Roads Not Taken
by AnneBronteRocks
Summary: My own take on Marcie, Al, Michael, and the "Heaven Can Wait" storyline...
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: This was the first fanfic I ever wrote, way, way back in 2005, when I was hugely into Marcal. This story was previously published, also under the name "Annebronterocks," at Tessarae's "Diner of Love" website.

* * *

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

Marcie was exhausted. She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what was wrong with her. She couldn't remember ever having felt this utterly _drained_. Not when she'd been in the hospital with that infection, not when those _awful_ sorority girls had kept her sleep deprived before dragging her to The Garage for the climax of their plan to humiliate her. Not when she'd sat up in the hospital worrying about Al.

Al…. She was too tired to really let loose again, but she could feel her eyes welling up and spilling tears down her cheeks. Marcie couldn't believe that he had been gone for two weeks now. It just wasn't possible. If she concentrated, she could _feel_ him standing in the doorway, looking down at her. She forced herself to raise her head, almost believing that she would see him. But her room was empty.

Marcie tried to concentrate. Something wasn't right, she just shouldn't be this tired. She should go to the hospital tomorrow. Maybe this was some sort of after effect of the infection reasserting itself. Or maybe she was coming down with mono; one of the girls in the dorm had come down with it last year and had had to drop out for the spring semester. Or maybe she was just depressed. Wasn't exhaustion one of the symptoms of depression?

Marcie woke up the next morning, still tired, but with enough energy to get up, get dressed, and go to the hospital. She signed in at the walk-in clinic and sat waiting, leafing listlessly through a tattered copy of Time magazine.

"Marcie Walsh?" she heard someone say, and looked up. A doctor was standing in the doorway of the examining room, holding a clipboard. Marcie rose and followed him in. She plopped into the chair that he indicated, and now looked at him for the first time. He was young, probably mid-twenties, with light brown hair. Tall, but much slighter than Al. She realized that he was addressing her again.

"Sorry," she said, "I wasn't paying attention, what did you say?"

"I was asking you to tell me about your symptoms."

"I'm really tired all of the time," Marcie began, "I don't mean tired like I'm not getting enough sleep, because I've been sleeping more than usual lately. I'm just exhausted. For almost a week. And I thought that I should get a check-up or something, that maybe I was coming down with mono."

"Have you been in contact with anyone who has mono?"

"Not that I know of."

"Any signs of fever, aches?"

"No." Marcie watched him scribble something on his clipboard. "You probably think I'm being a hypochondriac."

"No, no, I'm not saying that," he replied. He sounded a little brusque to Marcie, a little impatient. Or maybe she was just being sensitive. "Shall I examine you?" he continued. Marcie climbed onto the examining table and sat, her feet dangling. First the doctor took her temperature. It was normal. He looked in her eyes, ears, and throat, then felt her glands. It was all perfectly professional, although a small part of Marcie wished that the doctor examining her was a woman. What did men think about when they were examining female patients?

"Would you lift the back of your shirt?" the doctor said, putting on his stethoscope. Marcie obediently untucked her top and felt the cold circle of metal in the middle of her back. "Breathe." She breathed. The circle moved. "Breathe." She breathed again.

"Did you just become a doctor?" she asked as he moved in front of her to listen to her heart. She wanted a slight distraction from knowing that she was letting a guy, OK a doctor, but a guy she had just met look at her cleavage.

"I'm a resident. That's the last step. Don't worry, I'm perfectly qualified to examine you. Being a resident basically means that they work you harder and longer for less than a full doctor."

"What's your name?"

"Michael McBain." He had finished using his stethoscope and Marcie readjusted her top. After taking her blood pressure, he sat for a minute looking at his notations and scribbling something.

"Am I all right?"

"Well, you don't have a fever, your glands aren't swollen, your blood pressure and your breathing are all absolutely normal. I think it's safe to say that you don't have mono."

"But why do I feel this tired?"

"Could be stress. Have you been unusually stressed recently?" Marcie almost snorted. That was the understatement of the year.

"My boyfriend just died." Marcie swallowed hard. Michael looked at her for a minute.

"I was wondering if I'd seen you before," he said. "You mean Al Holden."

"Yes." Marcie had to swallow again. It was harder this time.

"I'm very sorry. Well, nothing is glaringly wrong with you, but I'll send you for some blood tests, just so we can say that we've covered our bases and ruled everything out." He began scribbling on a new piece of paper. "Take this requisition form to the testing center, then come back to the waiting area. It should take an hour or so for the results to come back if you have the time to hang around here."

"Thanks," Marcie said, taking the paper and leaving the room.

She had to wait two hours, not one, but Marcie didn't have the will or energy to be somewhere else. Dr. McBain finally called her name again, and she sat back down in the chair in the examining room. She watched him skim through the lab report, stopping once or twice to read something carefully. He put the report down and looked at her.

"Definitely not mono," he said.

"Okay."

"You're anemic."

"I'm what?"

"Anemic. Your body isn't getting enough iron. That's why you've been so tired."

"Oh. I was never anemic before."

"That brings me to the other thing that popped up on your blood test."

"What?" Marcie had been calming down, digesting the anemia, but now she was starting to panic a little.

"You're pregnant."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

"I'm _what_?" Marcie could feel her eyes bugging out of her head in shock.

"Pregnant. You and your boyfriend were sexually active, weren't you?" It sounded so _clinical_ when he said it like that. "Sexually active." Like she and Al had been acting out some sex ed book, whereas it had been the most moving and empowering experience of Marcie's life. Checking her resentment, Marcie nodded dumbly in response to the question. "You haven't noticed that you missed your period?" Michael continued.

"Do you have a calendar?" Marcie asked, looking wildly around the office. Michael handed one over and Marcie flipped through it, trying to get the dates fixed in her head. "I have kind of an irregular period," she said, handing the calendar back. "Every six or seven weeks. I guess I would have noticed on my own in a few days."

"Well, I'm going to write you a prescription for iron pills, which should help with your anemia, and I'm referring you to one of the OB-GYNs here at the hospital. You should make an appointment to see her as soon as possible." He handed Marcie two more pieces of paper. He noticed that Marcie seemed frozen in her seat. "Do you need me to call someone for you?" Marcie blinked and stood up shakily.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks." Still in a daze, Marcie left the hospital.

Marcie sat on her bed staring at the bottle of iron pills. She had just taken her first dose, with some orange juice. The instructions had said to take them with something. The same thought loop kept playing over and over in her head.

"Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God. This can't be real. I'm dreaming. Except that if I were dreaming I wouldn't be sitting here, holding this bottle of pills. Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God."

She thought back to the night that she and Al had made love. She was sure they had used a condom. Except that condoms weren't a hundred percent guarantee. And she had told Dr. Cummings that she was going to practice safe sex!

Marcie stopped staring at the pill bottle and started staring at the phone. She needed to talk to someone, but she wasn't sure who to talk to first. Jen? Ron?

The person Marcie really wanted to talk to was Al. What would Al have thought about all of this? He'd probably be really excited. He'd talked about how depressed he'd been when Jen miscarried and they'd talked about how they would have kids of their own someday.

Except that someday had turned into now. And Al wasn't here.

Al was in heaven. Or at any rate, a sort of foyer to heaven full of bright, white, slightly indistinct light. He was also beside himself with rage. The only reason he hadn't hit the roof was that heaven didn't have a roof.

"You can NOT tell me that Marcie doesn't need me, Luna!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "First I die, before my time – and those were your own words Luna, 'before my time,' then you tell me that I have to accept it and to let Marcie go, and now she's pregnant with _our child_ , and you expect me to let her go through this by herself?"

"Sugar, you have got to calm down," Luna replied, trying to get his attention, "I would tell you to watch out or you'd give yourself a heart attack, but that's really not much of an issue now, is it?" Luna tried to smile.

"You think that's funny?" Al shot back, looking daggers at Luna. She didn't mind that; at least he'd stopped yelling for the moment. "Marcie needs me, Luna," Al repeated. "I can't let her go through this alone. I know how hard it is to be a single parent, Luna, I was raised by one. Marcie needs my help. I need to see her. I need to get back to her. Can't you help me _at all_?"

"Al, honey, you've asked me that a million times, and what have I said every single time?" She gave him a look, like a stern teacher who expected a certain answer.

"You're working on it," Al glowered. "Can't you work a bit harder?"

"Hi, Ms. Medina," Marcie said as she slid into her chair across the table from Gabrielle.

"Hello, Marcie," Gabrielle replied, smiling wanly. She looked haggard, with dark circles under her eyes, hair slightly disheveled, and her fingers clutching the stem of a martini glass. That was starting to worry Marcie; every time she had seen Al's mother since the memorial service, it was with an alcoholic beverage.

"Thanks for meeting me for lunch," Marcie said.

"You said it was very important," Gabrielle replied, sipping her drink.

"It is." Marcie fingered her menu, wondering how to get the words out. She'd called Gabrielle last night, but it hadn't seemed quite right to give her this kind of news over the phone, so she had suggested they meet over lunch. Now they were sitting across from each other at the Palace restaurant, but Marcie still wasn't sure how to begin. She held her breath thinking, feeling the moment drag. Marcie took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant. With Al's baby." She looked at Gabrielle to see her reaction. Now it looked as though Gabrielle was holding her breath. She looked more fragile than before Marcie had spoken, if that were possible. Her eyes seemed larger too.

"Are you sure?" Gabrielle's voice was hoarse, almost inaudible. Marcie nodded.

"I was feeling run down and went to the hospital. And they took blood tests. And I'm pregnant."

"When was this?"

"Yesterday. You're the first person I've told." Marcie could feel her throat constricting, her voice rising in pitch as she forced the words out. Gabrielle had put down her drink and ran a hand through her hair. Her eyes glazed over.

"And what are you going to do?" Marcie swallowed in an effort to steady her voice and began to twist her napkin around in her hands.

"I want to keep it; this baby is all I'll ever have of Al now…" a tear splashed down Marcie's cheek as she drew a convulsive breath, "But I don't know what to do. I mean, I know what I want, but I don't know how I'm supposed to do this. I have to finish school, and get a job, and my mother's dead, and so is Al, and… and I'm really scared." The last word was barely out of Marcie's mouth when Gabrielle, her own face glistening with tears, had left her seat. She knelt down next to Marcie's chair and wrapped her in a fierce hug. They clung to each other, both crying.

"Everything will be all right, my darling," Gabrielle said, stroking Marcie's hair. "I promise you, everything will be all right."

Marcie lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her hands lay lightly on her stomach, and she was trying to imagine what this child growing inside of her might be like. Before she had gotten very far, she felt, once again, the strong sensation that Al was in the room with her, watching her. She raised her head, prepared to see an empty room.

And there he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

Marcie blinked. She could still see Al, standing at the foot of her bed, wearing a blindingly brilliant smile. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. He was still there. Marcie sat up slowly, now afraid that if she blinked again, Al would disappear.

"Hey, Beautiful," he said softly.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Marcie said, blinking before she could stop herself. Al was still there.

"You're not dreaming," Al said. Marcie flung herself out of bed and rushed at him. "Marcie, wait…" he began, too late. Marcie's hand passed through Al's chest, as through empty air. She also received an unpleasant shock; the type one received when touching a doorknob in the dead of winter.

"Oh," she said in small voice, letting her hand fall to her side. "Then it wasn't all a bad dream either? You dying?"

"I'm afraid not." Al stood looking down at Marcie, who had sat back heavily on her bed, staring up at him in mute misery. He wanted so badly to stroke her hair, caress her cheek, kiss her… Touch her in any way, no matter how small, just to make her feel better somehow, to get that look off of her face. He had to content himself with running his fingers through his hair.

"They let me come visit you," he said, seating himself on the floor and looking up into Marcie's face.

"How long can you stay?"

"I don't know."

"You said you would stay forever. Remember?"

"How could I forget? I also said I would go to heaven and back for you. And here I am."

"I've missed you," Marcie said, wiping away fresh tears, "I'm so sick of crying!" she exclaimed in frustration, "And I don't want to waste time crying while you're here with me. Seeing you makes me feel better."

"Well, I'm glad of that." Al paused. "How are you feeling?" Marcie perked up.

"I have something important to tell you," she said, leaning forward slightly and smiling conspiratorially.

"What?" Al grinned, knowing what she was about to say.

"I'm pregnant."

"I know." Al's smile widened.

"You do?" Marcie looked surprised for a moment, and a little disappointed.

"Sorry, Marcie," Al said, looking sheepish, "You find out what's happening on earth when you're in heaven."

"You've been watching me?"

"Every minute that I'm not on Luna's case trying to get back here." Marcie smiled, and got up to sit across from Al on the floor. "You never answered my question, you know."

"What was the question?" Marcie asked, looking deep into his eyes.

"How are you feeling? Any morning sickness? Cravings?"

"No morning sickness. I've just been very tired. The doctor I saw said that I'd become anemic, and gave me these iron pills."

"I'm so sorry, Marcie. I mean, that you have to go through this by yourself. It's killing me that I can't be here taking care of you."

"Or would be killing you if you weren't already dead," Marcie replied with a wry smile.

"Oh, man, Luna makes jokes like that all of the time up there," Al groaned. "Seriously, though. Are you going to be all right? What are you going to do?"

"I had a long talk with your mother over lunch today," Marcie said, "She was thrilled. And after we both stopped crying, we figured out a sort of plan."

"Let's hear it."

"Well, I'm due at the end of May, so there'll be plenty of time to finish senior year and graduate before the baby is born. And your mother insisted on paying for doctor's bills and helping me out for at least the first year so that I can get a job. I mean, something better than being a receptionist at the police department."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. An accountant, or something. Something it only takes a year or so to learn and that would let me work from home most of the time. It kind of feels weird accepting money from your mother, but I need help, and she has the right to help me. So you see, I'm not alone." Marcie paused and laid a hand on her stomach. "And now I'll always have our child… even if I can't have you."

"I love you, Marcie," said Al.

"I love you too. Always." They looked at each other, a small space separating their faces. It felt wrong and unnatural not to bridge the inches between them and kiss, but that wasn't possible. Al pressed a finger to his lips and blew Marcie a kiss. She smiled and blew him one as well.

"I think I need to go back now," Al said reluctantly. Marcie sighed.

"Can you come back again?"

"I'll pester Luna until she sends me back just to be rid of me."

"Al?"

"Yeah?" Marcie opened her mouth, appeared to hesitate, then spoke anyway.

"If you see my mother, can you say hi for me?"

"Sure." And when Marcie blinked, the room was empty. She remained seated for a long time in a Zen-like state of calm. She got up and put on a CD while she got ready for bed. Anne Murray had been one of her mother's favorite singers.

 _People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one._

 _Well, we've just begun._

 _I think I'm gonna have a son._

He will be like him and me. As free as a dove. Conceived in love. The sun is gonna shine above.  
And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey. Everything brings a chain of love. And in the morning, when I rise, Bring a tear of joy to my eyes, And tell me, everything's gonna be all right.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

She told Ron the next morning, inviting him over to her dorm room for breakfast. He _had_ hit the roof. Figuratively speaking, of course.

"You're _what_?"

"Pregnant, Ron. I couldn't believe it at first either, but…"

"Dad is going to have a stroke when you tell him."

"Thanks for being so supportive, Ron," Marcie retorted, giving her brother a withering stare. "I'm sorry that Al isn't here for you to orchestrate a shotgun wedding and beat up, not necessarily in that order, but he happens to be dead. And if I hear you use the word 'wedlock' once, I am never going to speak to you again." She glared at him for a minute. "We didn't arrange this to give you or Dad strokes, you know."

"Look, Marcie, I'm sorry, OK? This is just…quite a shock. I mean, you're my little sister. It's one of my jobs to beat up guys who…have…sex… Oh my God, I can't even process the thought." He looked so stricken that Marcie started to laugh despite herself.

"Fine, this was done by immaculate conception! I'm the second Virgin Mary. Now just listen to me for a minute, I've got this all worked out." And she told Ron about her meeting with Gabrielle.

"That sounds fine, but Marcie, I really think you should move back home. Let us all take care of you too."

"Thanks, Ron, but I want to stay here and finish school."

"After you graduate, then. You could do bookkeeping for the diner."

"I don't want to work at the diner my whole life!"

"What's wrong with the diner?"

"Nothing. It's just that the point of my leaving home for college was to be independent, and I like being independent. I don't want to go back to Ridgeview and living at home; I want to be in charge of my life."

"I'm just trying to help."

"If you want to help, you could offer to baby-sit."

"Fine."

"And help back me up when I tell Dad." Ron sat down on Marcie's couch. "I'm not stupid, you know," Marcie continued, sitting on her bed and facing him, "I know this is going to be really hard, but this way I get to hang on to a part of Al."

"I just wish that you had someone to help you."

"I have people."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know."

"I love you, Marcie, you know that."

"Of course I know that. And I'll go home for a visit to break the news to Dad in person, but please give me enough credit to know how to take care of myself."

Telling Jen had been a lot more fun. Marcie had stopped by Jen and Joey's after classes and found Jen at home. Of course, she hadn't been instantly ecstatic, and had been rather tentative in offering her congratulations, but that was to be expected considering that Marcie had just lost Al. After Marcie had gone through the plan that she and Gabrielle had come up with, not only was Marcie getting thoroughly sick of repeating herself, but Jen was becoming appreciatively excited.

"Oh my God, Marcie," Jen exclaimed, lunging across the sofa and giving Marcie a hug, "This is so huge. You're going to be a fabulous mother. And I can be cool Aunt Jen, the one who always has candy in her purse and knows all about makeup."

"Who says I'm going to have a girl?" Marcie retorted, smiling. Jen looked confused for a minute, then a little deflated.

"Oh. Right. Wouldn't you prefer a girl? It could be just like 'Gilmore Girls.'"

"Well, you know what they say. As long as it's healthy. But if I could pick…I'd want to have a boy."

"So he could be just like Al." Marcie nodded, wiped away a sudden tear, and started giggling.

"I am so all over the place," Marcie said apologetically, blowing her nose, "I'm petrified, I'm ecstatic, I'm laughing, I'm crying…"

"Hey, really don't worry about it. Anyway, you have the world's best excuse. I mean you're pregnant. Your hormones are going berserk. You can flip on a dime and it all makes sense. I wish I had that excuse."

"Is something wrong, Jen?" Marcie asked anxiously.

"Oh…no. Not really. I mean, there's no good reason why I should feel this way."

"Is something wrong with you and Joe?"

"No. I mean, he's great, and I love him like crazy…but…but he's not home a lot. I mean he's busy with stuff. And I seem to spend all my time waiting for him to come home. And I don't know if I can be the minister's wife that everyone expects me to be. I mean, I don't make cookies or go to the Ladies Auxilliary, I mean…" Jen stopped and chewed on her lower lip. Marcie was quiet for a minute.

"Would you like my honest opinion, Jen?" Marcie asked, leaning back on the couch and looking at her friend.

"You're going to tell me to grow up, aren't you?"

"No. I'm telling you that you're bored. I mean, Joe loves you, but he can't be around all of the time to entertain you. And more importantly, you should be able to keep yourself busy."

"I'm no good at being a minister's wife," Jen muttered sullenly.

"I didn't say that. If you don't want to attend the Ladies Auxilliary, don't go. The cookie police are not going to be inspecting your kitchen every week. But you're still in college. Don't your classes and studying for tests and writing papers take up your time?" Jen looked sheepish.

"I haven't really been keeping up with my work."

"Jen." Marcie gave Jen what she had always mentally classified as "Marcie's schoolmarm look."

"I know, I know. I just don't somehow have your discipline." They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"What if we studied together?" Marcie suggested. "Not every night, but what if we put aside one night a week, the night that Joe is busiest, and I came over and we studied together? And maybe another night each week we could just hang out, watch the kind of chick flicks guys would never be caught dead seeing, and maybe even…bake cookies?" They both burst out laughing.

"That sounds nice."

"And Jen, I know I'm going to sound like a broken record or one of those Cosmo advice columns, but you need to TALK to Joe about being lonely and stuff."

"But he'll think…"

"He won't think that you're being a failure as a minister's wife. He loves you. He doesn't need you to be perfect. Try to work out a couple of nights a week for the two of you to go out to dinner, or just stay in, or anything, as long as you do it together." Jen sighed.

"I'll try."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

"Professor Haver?" Marcie said tentatively as she approached his desk after class.

"Yes?" he said, turning around in the act of erasing the blackboard.

"I'm Marcie Walsh, and I'm in your class. I'm really sorry I missed the last couple of classes, I'll be by your office hours later to explain what's been going on," she added hurriedly, feeling flustered and embarrassed, knowing that she was starting to babble, "But I was just wondering if you knew of anyone I could get notes from?"

"Certainly," he said, scanning the students hurriedly gathering up their notebooks and schoolbags. "I've had Katrina in my class before; she's an excellent student, I'm sure she can help you. Katrina?" He said, tapping a young woman on the shoulder as she went past the desk. She was Caucasian, very tall, probably six feet, with long black hair, and built like the movie star Queen Latifa.

"Yes, Professor Haver?"

"Katrina Warner, this is Marcie…"

"Walsh," said Marcie, "Marcie Walsh."

"And she missed the last couple of classes and needs to copy someone's notes."

"Oh, sure. No problem," Katrina said, giving Marcie a friendly smile. "Come on." They left the classroom together. "Which days do you need?" Katrina added.

"Thursday and Monday. I had to go home over the weekend."

"Family emergency?"

"Sort of." She'd gone home with Ron to tell her father about the baby. All in all, it had not been the most enjoyable of weekends. Her father had had more or less the same reaction as Ron. She knew he had only been upset because he loved her and worried about her, but she never had liked arguing with him. He had also wanted her to move back home, but she had stuck to her guns, and, her father had had to give in, especially since Ron was staying in Llanview to keep an eye on Marcie.

Marcie and Katrina found a photocopy machine and xeroxed Katrina's notes.

"Can you read my writing?" Katrina asked. Marcie looked at a few paragraphs.

"Absolutely. You have gorgeous penmanship."

"Thanks. Say, do you need to rush off to class, or would you like to get a snack? It's always fun to make a new friend." Marcie checked her watch. She had nearly forty minutes before she had to be anywhere else.

"Sure." They had walked to the campus coffee shop. Marcie got a hot chocolate and a croissant. Katrina got a latte and a cheese danish.

"So…Katrina, right? That's a pretty name. Or do you prefer a nickname, like Kat?"

"No, I just like Katrina. The only nickname anyone ever gave me was Katrina Ballerina, which I always hated. I think Marcie is pretty too. Is that short for Marcia, or something?"

"God, no," Marcie said, wrinkling her nose and smiling, "It's just Marcie. I'm from Ridgeview, New Jersey. How about you?"

"Philly. You a senior too?"

"Al?" Al started and whirled around.

"Marcie?" he exclaimed, then stopped short. The woman standing in front of him was not Marcie. Her hair was the same shade, but longer, and curlier. There were little differences in her features. And she looked ten or fifteen years older. But there was no mistaking her smile. "You're Marcie's mom?" Al ventured.

"And you're Marcie's Al. Please, call me Melinda," she added, extending her hand.

"Marcie was hoping I would run into you," Al said as he shook hands, "She says hi."

"I know. I've been watching her as well, much longer than you have."

"You have the most amazing daughter. I've never met someone as caring, or strong, or…" Al found words failing him, "Or wonderful. I'd do anything for her. Do you know whether Luna has figured anything out yet? Wait, do you know Luna?" Melinda smiled. God, there was no question of where Marcie had gotten her smile, it made you want to smile right back.

"Luna's the one who told me where to come looking for you."

"I'm trying to get back to Marcie," Al began explaining, "I mean, permanently, not just a visit. I don't want her to have to raise our child by herself." Al stopped, suddenly embarrassed and tongue-tied. Would Marcie's mother resent him for getting her daughter pregnant and then dying and leaving her all alone? "I didn't mean for this to happen. I mean like this."

"Let's sit down," Melinda said, leading Al to a bench, painted white to match the atmosphere. "You don't need to apologize," she said, when they were seated, "You loved Marcie, truly loved her, made her feel it in her bones. And she loved you. I don't resent you or blame you for anything, any more than Marcie does."

"How do you stand it?" Al blurted out after a minute of silence, "Being stuck up here, being forced to watch, having all this love for someone and not being able to be a part of their lives? You died when Marcie was little. How could you stand being stuck up here and not with your little girl?" He stopped abruptly again, realizing that he probably sounded rude. "I always wanted to be a father. I mean really be a father. And I'm supposed to just sit up here and watch and not help, not DO anything." Al started to cry. Melinda patted his arm, then pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder and stroked his hair in silence for a few minutes.

"Marcie's going to be fine," Melinda said reassuringly, ignoring Al's outburst, "If she's lucky, your baby will take after her."

"How do you mean?" Al asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"She was such a happy, good natured baby. Didn't cry very much, bounced back quickly if something upset her. And she slept through the night at two months old. Do you have any idea what kind of a gift that is to a parent? Her brothers took so much longer. Ron was six months old before he started sleeping through the night; my husband and I thought we were going to go insane."

"Tell me more. Does she get her voice from you?"

"You mean her singing?" Melinda shook her head. "Marcie gets that from her father. I'm tone deaf. Children are never perfect copies of just one parent, you know. She got a lot from me. But not her voice." Melinda paused, and a wistful smile stole over her face. "She loved singing when she was little. She would listen to records of musicals, over and over, and sing the songs back to me, and mispronounce the harder words. I liked hearing her mispronounce them better than hearing the singers saying the words correctly." Al smiled.

"I've got to get back to her, Melinda," he repeated.

"I know you want to."

"Luna's trying to find a way."

"I know. We talked about it."

"Have you come up with anything?"

"We're working on it, Al. We'll let you know as soon as there is anything to tell you."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

Marcie and Katrina left Professor Haver's class together. Over the past couple of weeks they had gotten into the habit of sitting next to each other, chatting before and after class, and even passing the occasional note. Marcie liked Katrina. She was interesting to talk to, had a wicked sense of humor, and provided Marcie with a welcome distraction from the craziness of her life.

"Are you going to the Halloween Party at the Student Union?" Katrina asked, as they settled down at a table with their usual hot chocolate and latte.

"Oh, I really don't know," Marcie began, "I don't really feel like a party."

"Oh, come on," Katrina pleaded good naturedly, "It's good to get out every once in a while. You work so hard. And I've got the perfect thing for you to wear."

"What?"

"Sophomore year I was Lady Macbeth when the drama club put on their spring semester play. I made my own costume and I still have it. You want to come by my room and try it on?"

"But it wouldn't fit me. You're so much bigger than I am."

"There's no question that it would need massive hemming, but what gives the dress its definition is a separate bodice. If we lace it tighter on you, I think it will fit. It doesn't matter if the sleeves are a little baggier on you than on me; it'll look more period. What do you say?"

"Well…" Marcie thought for a moment. A costume party sounded so refreshingly normal. Al wouldn't mind her going to a party; she'd seen him a few more times in the past weeks, and he'd been telling her about how he was trying to get his mother to go to the dance classes at the community center, so far without success. Gabrielle couldn't see or hear him, though she could sometimes sense him. "I'll try it on," Marcie conceded at last, "But I'm still not sure about this party."

Katrina had a room in a building on the other side of campus. She let them in and began rummaging through her closet. While she waited, Marcie drifted over to Katrina's bookshelf. Most of the space was taken up by textbooks, but the top shelf was obviously reserved for pleasure reading, and one author predominated.

"Who's Terry Pratchett?" Marcie called over her shoulder. Katrina emerged from her closet, clutching something dark green.

"Oh, my God, you've never heard of Terry Pratchett?" she asked, her eyes suddenly glowing. Marcie shook her head. She had never seen Katrina this excited. "He's this fantasy writer, British, a brilliant satirist, and I can't TELL you how hysterically funny he is. I'll start laughing out loud while I'm reading and just not be able to stop. You HAVE to read him, oooh, especially this one," she continued, grabbing a book off of her shelf and handing it to Marcie.

"'Masquerade,'" Marcie said, reading the title aloud.

"I've read it about five times. It's all about opera, especially Phantom of the Opera. But the best part of the book is the main character, Agnes, who's THE most amazing singer, and also a white witch, or at least has the potential to be a witch. And the opera people don't think Agnes is," Katrina made air quotes, "'pretty' enough, or 'thin' enough to look right in the lead, so they have her do voice overs, like in 'Singin' in the Rain,' for this Barbie Doll with a brain made of fluff named Christine, who's great talent is that she looks good in white sequined dresses. But Agnes absolutely ROCKS." Katrina paused to catch her breath and noticed the slightly bewildered look on Marcie's face. "Sorry," she said, "Now I've probably scared you off. I'm sorry. I kind of put the 'fan' in fanatical when it comes to Pratchett."

"No, that's fine," I'm always on the lookout for new things to read," Marcie replied, "I'd be happy to borrow it."

"I swear, you won't regret it. Now," she added, "what about this dress?" She spread out her dress on the bed. It was made out of forest green velvet. It had a generously revealing neckline, a short, stiffly starched ruff running around the back of the collar, and the sleeves were baggy, tied off in two places with gold frogging. Marcie caught her breath and just stared.

"You want me to wear this?" she gasped, not noticing that Katrina had begun rummaging in a drawer.

"And here is the bodice," Katrina added, throwing it on top of the dress. The bodice was covered in forest green and gold brocade. "Try it on." Marcie didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed the dress and headed for Katrina's bathroom.

"This isn't going to work, Katrina," Marcie called from the bathroom a few minutes later, "I'm practically falling out of it. There's only so much cleavage I'm willing to show."

"The neckline has a drawstring, you can adjust it higher," Katrina called back, unperterbed, "Let me know when you're ready for me to help you lace up the bodice." Marcie emerged from the bathroom a minute later, holding handfuls of skirt to keep from tripping. She stood still while Katrina laced up the bodice. Then she turned and looked in the mirror.

Marcie's jaw dropped when she saw her reflection. She knew, without hearing it from anyone else, that she looked fabulous. Even more than fabulous, she looked Elizabethan. She turned to Katrina, who was grinning from ear to ear, and holding out a pearl necklace and matching earrings.

"Costume jewelry. Goes with the dress. Didn't I tell you that this would make a perfect costume?"

"But what will you wear? This is your dress, after all."

"I've got something else planned for this year. Come on now, will you come to the party?"

"With a dress like this? I couldn't possibly refuse," Marcie grinned back. Katrina got a sewing kit and began to pin up the skirt for hemming.

"If there's one thing the Elizabethans have the twenty first century beat in," she commented as she worked and Marcie admired herself in the mirror, "It's that they appreciated women with figures like ours. We were their ideal. Can you imagine us in all of the fashion magazines instead of all of these awful little stick figures?"

Marcie arrived at the party at nine o'clock. It had been called for eight and was still pretty quiet. She had arranged to meet Katrina at nine. Jen had said that she would try to show up as well, with Joe if possible, although it was a bit unlikely that he would want to leave Natalie at Llanfair. Not that there was anything that Joe could do, except sit around, trying to comfort Natalie, who refused to be comforted. Marcie couldn't blame her. If it weren't for Al's visits and her pregnancy, she wasn't sure how she'd be able to get through each day.

Marcie wandered over to the refreshment table and helped herself to a pumpkin shaped cookie with orange frosting. She surveyed the crowd and brushed a few crumbs off of the bodice. She had hemmed the dress earlier in the week and it fit perfectly. It had been something of an effort to tear herself away from the mirror when she had finished putting the last touches to her costume. The dress and the jewelry alone were incredible, but Marcie had pinned up her hair as well tonight, which only added to the aura of authenticity.

God, she wished that Al could see her in this dress. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him kissing the nape of her neck.

"My God do you look incredible. Where'd you get the dress?" Marcie opened her eyes and saw Al standing in front of her. Her face lit up.

"I was just wishing that you could see me in this dress," she said excitedly.

"Wish granted," he replied, smiling. "I knew you sewed," he added, "but I didn't know you could do this sort of thing."

"Oh, I didn't make it," Marcie said, "My new friend, Katrina, she loaned it to me. She thought it would look good on me."

"Katrina has impeccable taste," Al replied, his eyes drinking in the stunning picture that Marcie made in her dress. The nape of her neck was begging for him to kiss it. His eyes traveled lower. It wasn't very often that Marcie showed much cleavage, but there was no question that this dress displayed it to the best advantage. "I wish I could taste you," he added after a minute, their eyes locking. They both sighed, and moved to sit at an empty corner table.

"How are you and the baby doing?" he asked.

"Fine. Between the iron supplements and the other vitamins I'm taking, my energy is back. Other than that, there's not much else to tell. I'm making sure that I get enough sleep, I've had a couple of checkups, and I've been doing research on the internet and getting some books out of the library, you know, about pregnancy."

"Still no morning sickness?"

"No," Marcie smiled, "Knock wood," she added, rapping her knuckles on the table. "Not every woman gets it, you know."

They were interrupted about fifteen minutes later by Jen.

"Hey, Marcie. Wow, that's an incredible costume." Jen was wearing regular clothes, black slacks and a black halter top, although she had tried to jazz up her outfit with a tiara and a pink feather boa, probably bought at the drug store at the last minute.

"Thanks," Marcie replied, "Did Joe come with you?"

"No. He didn't feel right coming. I probably shouldn't be here either," Jen sighed, staring into the distance, which happened to also be straight at Al. She didn't see him, and he started making grotesque faces at her. Marcie bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. "But I mean, sitting around the living room isn't making Natalie feel any better," Jen continued, oblivious of what Al was doing, "And if Joe can't make her feel better, I REALLY can't. She can't stand being around me, which is really unfair, because I really want to help. I just can't. Are you OK, Marcie?" Jen asked, noticing the strange look on Marcie's face.

"I'm fine," Marcie said hurriedly, looking at Jen and trying to compose her features. "Why don't you grab something at the refreshment table and I'll join you in a minute." Jen got up. As soon as she was out of earshot, Marcie let herself giggle uncontrollably for a minute.

"Al, you really shouldn't do that," she gasped.

"Couldn't help it. We were having a nice conversation and she has to come and interrupt."

"I should probably go after Jen," Marcie continued, growing sober.

"I should probably be going," Al added, heavily.

"But come back as soon as you can?"

"As soon as I can. Oh, and Marcie…I saw your mom. She wanted me to give you her love. And she said…that you were a wonderful baby." And Al disappeared. Marcie blinked a few times, gave herself a firm mental shake, and got up to join Jen. Seeing Al was one of the things keeping her going, but every time he had to go, it was getting harder to fight the wave of loneliness and depression that would rush over her.

Marcie joined Jen at the refreshment table. They chatted for a few minutes, then Marcie looked at her watch. She was surprised to see that it was almost a quarter to ten. She hoped Katrina was all right. But a minute later, Katrina had raced over to where they were.

"I'm SO sorry I'm late," she exclaimed, "I had some last minute errands to run, and you know how there are always lines that won't move when you're in a hurry and the person right in front of you is some octogenarian who argues for five minutes with the cashier about the change due or something. How do you like my costume?" she added, twirling around. Katrina was a vampire, with a red-lined cape, long, white gloves, and fangs.

"Cool," Marcie replied, "Katrina, I'd like you to meet my friend, Jen Buchanan. Jen, this is Katrina." They both said hi. Then Katrina fished a camera out of her purse.

"Jen, take a picture of me and Marcie, please?" They smiled and Jen snapped the picture.

"You'll give me doubles, right?" Marcie said.

"Like, duh," Katrina replied, "Let's take another," she added, "Where I pretend to bite you." Marcie angled her neck back obligingly and threw up her hands in apparent terror.

"I can't wait to see how it comes out," she said, after Jen had snapped the picture.

"Me neither," said Katrina, putting her camera away. She looked around the room, which had become more crowded and noisier, "Now let's have fun."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

Marcie listened to the echoes the doorbell made after she had rung it. Now that she was here, she wondered if she were doing the right thing. Before she could worry long, however, the door opened.

"Hi, Mrs. Davidson," Marcie said shyly.

"Marcie," she exclaimed, her face and voice radiating pleasant surprise, "Do come in. What can I do for you?"

"I thought I'd come by and offer Natalie my condolences. I mean, she and Christian were really nice when…when Al died."

"That's very sweet of you." Mrs. Davidson seemed to pause and consider for a moment, "Natalie's upstairs. She said she wanted to take a nap but I think she was just tired of the family hovering around her. Why don't you go on up, her door is the second on the left."

"Oh, but she probably won't want me hovering either," Marcie said quickly, suddenly sure that this hadn't been a good idea.

"Something tells me that you wouldn't hover. Go on up."

Marcie tapped on the door.

"Mom," she heard Natalie yell, "I don't want soup and I don't want tea, just go away." Marcie opened the door slightly and poked her head in.

"It's me," Marcie said. Natalie's room was in semi-darkness, the shades were drawn. She was sitting on her bed wearing sweats. She looked very tired. "I had to come by," Marcie continued, coming in and closing the door behind her. "I'm so sorry about Christian."

"Everyone's sorry," Natalie muttered, "Everyone wants to help. I don't know what everyone expects of me," she continued, her voice growing louder, "I just lost my husband! You don't…" Natalie stopped abruptly, as though seeing Marcie for the first time, and flushed crimson.

"Except I do," Marcie replied, walking across the room and kneeling next to the bed. "I thought I should come by. To talk, if you wanted to, or to just let you cry, or to just sit and not talk and just keep you company. I'll go away if you want me to. But I thought maybe I could help, because I know exactly what you're going through."

"I'm sorry," Natalie whispered.

"Don't be." Marcie paused. "Do you want me to go?"

"You can stay for a while," Natalie said after considering for a minute. "But I don't want to talk."

"OK." Marcie got up and settled herself in an armchair by the window. Natalie curled up on her bed in a fetal position. Marcie let her mind drift, not keeping track of the time or paying attention as Natalie shifted position.

"Marcie?" Natalie said in a small voice. Marcie looked up. She didn't know how long she had been sitting by the window. Natalie was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed.

"Yeah?" Marcie got up, walked over to the bed and perched on the edge.

"How…How…are you doing this? How do you get out of bed? How do you breathe?" Marcie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She'd sound crazy if she told Natalie about being visited by Al's spirit. How to answer her?

"Partly by…by keeping busy," Marcie began, "School is a distraction. I let people talk me into going places. When I stop finding distractions, when I'm alone, when I'm trying to fall asleep…it's harder."

"I can't sleep. It takes me hours to fall asleep. I can't turn my brain off, you know?"

"Yeah. And…this will sound silly, but I know, really, really know, that Al is still with me. That he's watching over me. Not like telling myself a story about heaven, but really, really here."

"I tell myself that. About Christian. I know that Carlotta believes it. But I can't feel it. Inside. I talk out loud to him, but I don't hear an answer, I don't feel like he hears me. He's just gone and I don't know where and I don't know how to find him. How do you do it?" Natalie looked desperate for some kind of advice, but Marcie had none to give.

"I don't do anything. I haven't done anything consciously, haven't sat down and said, 'If I do this, maybe I'll feel better.' There's something else," Marcie added, moving closer to Natalie, sitting cross legged on the bed next to her, "But don't tell anyone until the end of the month, OK?" Natalie nodded. "I'm pregnant."

The last thing Marcie had intended was for Natalie to burst into tears. Which was what happened. She began sobbing uncontrollably, and Marcie caught her in a tight hug, feeling Natalie's inarticulate screams of pain go right through her. Marcie was suddenly wracked with guilt.

"Oh my God, Natalie, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad." This had been a serious mistake. She expected Natalie to push her away and start screaming at her. But she didn't. She just clung to Marcie, who rocked her, and started crying as well. Neither saw Viki poke her head in, look at them both for a minute, then go away quietly.

It was a long time before Natalie got hold of herself.

"You're pregnant?" was the first thing she managed to say after she had let go of Marcie. Marcie nodded. "You're so lucky!" Natalie burst out, starting to cry again and covering her face with her hands as she rocked back and forth. "Why couldn't I be having Christian's baby?"

"Couldn't you?" Marcie asked timidly. Natalie shook her head violently.

"I got my period last week. We were too careful. And now all this time has been wasted, and there's nothing left. I'm so jealous, Marcie." But even if Natalie were jealous, she wasn't angry; that much Marcie could see.

"I'm jealous of you too."

"Why?"

"You and Christian had more time together. You got to get married."

"It's all my fault that Christian is dead. If I hadn't decided to enter that stupid tournament, this wouldn't have happened. I should have been the one to die, not him."

"I felt the same way. I gave Al that infection. But I came to see that it wasn't my fault. Not really. I didn't give myself that infection; Madison and Deke did. Don't blame yourself. Blame the people who actually killed him."

"It doesn't change anything, who I blame. Or who you blame. Any of this. It still all ends the same way. Both of us. Alone."

"We both have families who love us," Marcie ventured half-heartedly.

"Have you noticed what a pain in the neck they are, though, trying to make you feel better?" Natalie replied, starting to giggle, slightly hysterically. Marcie grinned. Natalie was right; she loved Ron, but he could drive her crazy when he was trying to be protective.

"We have each other," Marcie continued, her face growing serious again.

"Yeah," Natalie said. "I guess we do. Thank you for coming. I think you've made me feel better…for a few minutes anyway."

"That's a start," Marcie said, wiping her tears away. "If you need to talk, or cry, or anything, just call."

"On one condition. You have to call me if you want to cry or talk as well."

"I promise," Marcie replied, getting off of the bed and shaking her clothes straight.

"Let me walk you to the door," Natalie added, getting out of bed.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

"Anything?" Al asked impatiently when he saw Luna and Melinda coming towards him.

"We have something, Sugar," Luna said. Al was almost surprised. Part of him had been wondering if he was going to be stuck in limbo forever, with Luna, and now Melinda, searching fruitlessly for a way back to earth.

"What is it?" he asked eagerly.

"First, you have to understand that it's going to be hard. We're talking about trying to get around the mystery of life and death, and there's nothing more important or more sacred. It can't be played with lightly, so it's going to be hard."

"I don't care. What is it?"

"You're going to be put into another man's body," Melinda replied, "Someone who's about to die himself."

"Me in someone else's body?" Luna and Melinda nodded.

"And you can't tell anyone that you're inside this new body," Luna continued.

"And if you can get Marcie to fall in love with you, in this new body, without her knowing that it's you, to look into your eyes and see your soul in there, by Valentine's Day, then you get to stay in that body and be with Marcie," Melinda concluded, "Tell Marcie that it's you, before she figures it out herself, and you're dead. I mean that literally, not metaphorically. Do you understand, Al?" she added urgently.

"THIS Valentine's Day?" Al burst out, incredulous, "As in three months from now? Look, I don't mean to sound like I'm bragging or anything, but that doesn't give Marcie enough time to let go of me. She needs time to…mourn, and all that sort of thing."

"Those are the conditions. New body, tell no one, get Marcie to fall in love with you, and your deadline is Valentine's Day. THIS Valentine's Day." Al stood for a minute, looking non-plussed, staring at the two women.

"Fine," he said at last, "Whatever it takes." Luna clapped her hands together happily. Melinda, however, folded her arms across her chest.

"I'm not sure you realize what this is going to take," she began, "What's Marcie's favorite flower?"

"Gerber daisies," Al replied automatically.

"What's her favorite drink?"

"Ginger ale, no ice."

"How did you meet?"

"I was flunking out and my parents hired her to tutor me. Why are you asking me this stuff? I KNOW all of this."

"That's the problem." Melinda paused. "Have you ever heard of Mickey the Dunce?"

"Who?" Now Al looked confused.

"There's an expression: Playing Mickey the Dunce. It's like having a poker face. It means pretending not to know things, even if you do. A good example is if someone were planning your surprise birthday party, and you found out about it, but you pretended not to notice anything and to act surprised. Got it?"

"Yeah…"

"You are going to have to play Mickey the Dunce. You know all about Marcie. You, Al Holden. But you're going to be put in someone else's body and Marcie is not going to know you're in there. She'll probably never have met you before, and if you, a total stranger, start giving her Gerber daisies and offering her ginger ale, what do you think is going to happen?" The three stood in silence for a minute.

"She'll think something weird is going on, won't she? Be freaked out by me." Melinda smiled for the first time since the meeting had begun.

"I knew you were an intelligent young man. So what are you going to do?"

"Play Mickey the Dunce…and pretend to have to get to know her from scratch?"

"Go to the head of the class. And now, you've asked Marcie all about herself and she's told you and she turns around and says, 'Enough about me, tell me all about you.' What do you do then?"

"I can't tell her about me because she can't know it's me."

"So you need to…?"

"Learn about whoever's body I take over. Where he's from, where he went to school, all that. Right?" Melinda breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're right. You are ready for this."

"You can see Marcie one more time to say goodbye," Luna added, "But NO telling her what we're up to," she said sternly.

"Wait, Luna, Melinda, I need to ask you something," Al said as they turned, apparently intending him to follow them. "Why didn't either of you do this? You both died before your time. Why didn't you do this, to get back to your families?" Melinda walked back to Al and took his hand.

"Al," she said, looking up at him, "Dying young is not the same thing as dying before your time. Dying young is a terrible thing, when there's still so much in you to give to the world and people that you love and who need you. But sometimes it's part of a larger plan, even if it looks like the stupidest waste. Dying before your time is a cosmic mistake. Sometimes mistakes can be fixed. That's the only way that you're able to do this in the first place. Life and death is very serious and can't be altered just because one died young and left loved ones behind."

"Oh. I see. I think."

"You probably don't. But that's all right. Now, are you ready to do this?" Al took a deep breath and straightened up.

"Yeah, I think I am."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

"Hey, Marcie," Natalie said, seeing Marcie walking towards her at the bar.

"Hi, Natalie," Marcie replied, hoisting herself up onto a barstool.

"What's wrong?" Natalie could see from the expression on Marcie's face that she was upset.

"We said that we could talk to each other whenever we needed to?" Natalie nodded. "I really need to now," Marcie said, resting her elbows on the bar and running her fingers through the hair above her temples.

"Just give me a sec," Natalie said, checking her watch. Her shift was going to end in fifteen minutes anyway. It was only a matter of minutes before she had arranged with the other bartender to cover the rest of the shift and to grab her coat. "Do you want to go back to your room?" she asked, slipping her coat on. Marcie nodded without shifting her position. They left Rodi's and Natalie drove them back to campus in silence. When they got to Marcie's room, Marcie immediately sat down on the floor at the foot of her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, not bothering to take her coat off. Natalie threw her coat on the bed and sat down next to Marcie.

"What did you want to talk about?" Natalie asked after a minute.

"You remember I told you, the other day, about that feeling I had that Al was with me and watching over me?" Marcie began in a small voice.

"Yeah?" Natalie said, resting her hand on Marcie's arm.

"I've lost it," Marcie sniffed, starting to cry as the words left her mouth. Natalie put her arm around Marcie's shoulders.

"Maybe it'll come back," Natalie ventured after a few minutes. Marcie didn't say anything for awhile. She couldn't explain to Natalie that Al had said goodbye to her tonight, that his spirit could no longer visit her the way he had been for weeks.

"I've just been in denial this whole time, haven't I?" Marcie continued when she had found the words, "Feeling that Al was with me, that he would find some way back to me. He's not coming back, is he? I feel so stupid."

"Don't feel stupid. You're not stupid, Marcie," Natalie said firmly, "You just…miss Al, and you need him. So you sort of…daydreamed yourself into believing that he was there with you."

"How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to be a good mother?"

"You're going to be a great mother. And you've got people to help you, don't you?"

"I don't mean…I don't mean money, and I don't mean…bottles and changing diapers. I mean, a mother is supposed to be able to carry the world on her shoulders. To explain the universe, to build the universe, to protect you from everything. How am I going to be that person? I don't know anything and I'm petrified!"

"You'll figure it out. I mean, you've still got seven months. And seriously, Marcie, there is no way in hell that you would be anything but the best mother. Parents don't know everything, and somehow kids grow up pretty well adjusted. I mean, look at me. I was raised, if you can call it raised, by ROXIE. You've already run circles around her as a mother and you're still in your first trimester."

"I guess you're right," Marcie said, sitting up and taking off her coat. She gave Natalie a small smile.

"You'll probably feel a lot better after a good night's sleep," Natalie added, glancing at Marcie's clock. "What are you doing up so late anyway?"

"I was in Angel Square and I found this resident I know from the hospital passed out. He'd taken the wrong medication by accident or something. I had to give him CPR and call an ambulance, and I went with him to the hospital to see that he was going to be all right."

"Oh my God. Is he all right now?"

"Yeah. They're keeping him overnight but he's fine. And when I left the hospital I just felt so lost and awful, so I thought I would try to find you. Thanks a lot for listening."

"One good turn certainly deserves another," Natalie replied. All at once she grinned.

"What's funny?"

"It's just a good thing that only one of us gets depressed and hysterical at a time."

"You've got a visitor," a nurse said, poking her head in the door. Al looked up from his hospital breakfast tray, his heart racing.

"Who is it?" It would be too much to hope for it to be Marcie, but he couldn't think of anyone else it could be. Maybe there was a God after all.

"He says he's your brother, John McBain." Damn. Al hadn't even brushed up properly on who this Michael McBain was and now he had to deal with his brother. Still, seeing and talking to him might jog some memories that Al needed to access.

"Send him in." The door opened a few seconds later, admitting a guy in his late twenties, tall, with dark, shoulder length hair.

"Hey, Michael," said John.

"Hi," said Al. His memory, well, Michael's memory, was definitely sending him signals, if he could just have a minute to process them without saying something that would sound weird.

"How are you doing? I heard that you almost died last night. What happened?"

"I'd just come off a thirty six hour shift, and I was getting over the flu or something, and I took the wrong medication by accident. How'd you hear about it anyway, did someone from the hospital call you?"

"No, actually I was at police headquarters last night and the officer logging the 911 calls told me that someone had called in about a Michael McBain. And he told me."

"That was nice of him."

"Yeah, especially since the Bureau only sent me here a few weeks ago." An FBI agent, Al thought. Cool.

"What's here that would concern the FBI?" Al asked. Llanview wasn't that big-league when it came to crime.

"There's this serial killer that's struck in Philly and New Jersey. His last murder appears to have taken place here. You haven't read anything about it?" Al shook his head.

"Too busy," he said.

"The press is calling him the "Music Box Killer." That's his calling card, an open music box playing, you know, the kind with a ballerina twirling around inside as the music plays. A couple of kids found one while they were trick or treating. And we found the fourth victim."

"Am I allowed to ask the MO, or would you not be able to tell me?"

"The press has already carried that. Strangulation with a red leotard. Then the killer carves a letter on the right cheek." They were silent for a minute.

"Is it always the same letter, or is the killer spelling something out, or what?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that." Al nodded understanding.

"And you're going to catch this guy," Al said.

"That's what I'm here for."

"Good luck with that."

"Yeah." John put his hands on his hips and shook his head back, as though trying to dispel certain thoughts from his mind. "Hopefully we'll catch this guy soon, which would mean I'd be out of here again, but maybe we could get together for a beer or something sometime while I'm in town."

"That sounds great," Al said, smiling. This conversation was going pretty well, considering that he had only met this guy about ten minutes ago. Technically.

"Really?" John said, smiling in surprise, "You usually try to make some excuse, Mike." Al stared blankly for a second.

"I…just had a near death experience, John. You know, the whole life-flashing, take stock sort of thing. I'd like to spend some time with you. Is that so strange?"

"No, I guess not. I've actually been in town for a few months, but I was undercover then, or I would have looked you up sooner."

"Better late than never."

"You gonna be OK?"

"Yeah. I'm due to be released in an hour or two. No permanent damage. Thanks to the person who found me." Al was struck by an inspiration that he later decided bordered on genius. "Say, John, the girl who gave me CPR, I'd like to thank her. I know her name is Marcie Walsh. Can you get me her address or phone number?"

"Short, red hair, big smile?"

"Do you know her?"

"She's a receptionist at the police department."

"Really?" Al said, feigning slight surprise. He was getting the hang of playing Mickey the Dunce.

"Yeah. Just call the station if you want to talk to her."

"Thanks. I will."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

A couple of days later, Marcie and Katrina were sitting in the Student Lounge, going through the pictures Katrina had taken at the Halloween party and divvying up the doubles. The pictures had come out quite well, especially some of the ones that Jen had taken.

"Why if it isn't Miss Piggy," came a voice, interrupting them. Marcie turned her head and saw Madison standing a few feet away from her, smiling poisonously, her hair, her clothes, everything about her looking as though she had just come from a photo shoot.

"I thought you were expelled," Marcie replied, knowing that she was glowering at Madison, and trying to control herself. The last thing she wanted was to give Madison the satisfaction of seeing how upset she was at the very sight of her.

"Daddy's lawyers got me back in," Madison said smugly, "You didn't really think a little nobody like you could push me out, did you?" Madison noticed Katrina. "Oh, how sweet. Miss Piggy has found herself a hog. Have you switched teams since your boyfriend went to that great DJ booth in the sky?"

There was a moment of ugly silence. Then Marcie began to smile. Slowly. Deliberately. Widely.

"Why, Madison," she said, in a voice as acidly sweet as the one Madison had been using, "I can't thank you enough for that compliment. No one has ever compared me to the winner of numerous beauty pageants, one of the biggest divas this side of the century, and someone capable of taking down seven ninjas with her bare hands." Now Marcie switched her voice to that of the Muppet Miss Piggy. "And you think all this of moi?" Switching to a valley girl voice, she squealed, "You are just too sweet!" And with that, she gathered up the pictures she had been looking at, got up, and walked to the exit. There she turned her head to see if Katrina was following her. Katrina had also gathered up her pictures and stood up. She was as tall as Madison, and grinned in her face. Madison looked as though she had just swallowed something nasty.

"Take a chill pill, Princess," Katrina said in a clear, carrying voice, "You're really not my type." And, as Katrina passed Madison, she slapped Madison's butt with a resounding smack. Madison jumped in the air as though she had been shot, and Katrina and Marcie ran out into the cold, crisp air, laughing hysterically. They collapsed on a bench a building away, shaking with laughter.

"Oh my God," Katrina panted, breathing strenuously, "Marcie, you rock, you absolutely ROCK. How did you think of that?"

"It just came to me all of a sudden, that there was more than one way to take what she said," Marcie gasped, wiping tears from her eyes, "And you actually… You are wicked!"

"That was one for the books," Katrina added, her breathing becoming more regular. "We need to celebrate. I think this calls for a milkshake." Marcie checked her watch. There was plenty of time before she needed to get to work.

"You're on."

"Who was that anyway, and what was her problem?" Katrina asked as they sipped their milkshakes in a booth at the Diner. Marcie went into the condensed version of her summer peace campaign and its consequences for her and Al.

"I can't believe that after everything she did to you, she's gotten back into LU and that she's not in jail. I mean, beating you up and leaving you in a dumpster to die…that's attempted murder. Hasn't your DA ever heard of criminally negligent homicide?" Marcie raised her eyebrows.

"Where did you?"

"'Law and Order,'" Katrina admitted sheepishly, "But that still doesn't mean that she shouldn't be punished."

"I guess there are different laws if you're rich, in the real world," Marcie said gloomily, stabbing her half-finished milkshake with her straw.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring back bad memories. This was supposed to be a celebration. We scored a victory over Madison. Don't ever forget that look on her face. And you put it there." Marcie smiled.

"It felt really good. And you were great. I still can't believe that you slapped her butt!"

"I took all kinds of crap from girls like her in high school. I learned how to fight back. And I learned the most effective ways to fight back. Use their weapons, and turn it back on them. The thing girls like her hate most is to see you really smile back. And they can't stand being touched," Katrina smiled, "They still believe in cooties."

"I would curl up inside, try to make myself fade into the background so that no one would notice me. Al helped me tap into the ability to stand up and defend myself."

"Good for him. I tried to help my little sister do that, but it didn't work."

"Hey, Marcie," Jen said, appearing at their table before Marcie could ask about Katrina's sister, "Hi…Kate?"

"Katrina," Katrina corrected.

"Sorry," Jen said, "May I join you two?"

"Sure," Marcie said, sliding over to make room for Jen, "You here to meet Joe?"

"Yeah, he should be here in a few minutes. My husband," Jen added for Katrina's comprehension.

"We were just celebrating," Katrina added.

"What?"

"Marcie had an encounter with Madison Kensington," Katrina said, "And sent her away with her tail between her legs like the you-know-what she is."

"That's great, Marcie," said Jen, "But what's she doing back? I thought we got her expelled?"

"She's back," Marcie said without bothering to elaborate. The thought depressed her too much.

"That is so unfair," Jen fumed, "After everything she did to you, to Al. She should be in jail instead of strutting around campus again. I mean, it's because of her that you're going to have to raise Al's baby by yourself."

"You're pregnant?" Katrina gawked, although trying to do it politely.

"Yeah," Marcie replied, glaring at Jen, "I'm sorry, Katrina, I've only told some of my oldest friends so far, I didn't want to publicize it until AFTER the first trimester, Jen."

"Sorry," Jen said in a small voice, "I forgot." Marcie glanced at her watch.

"I have to get to work." She said goodbye to Jen and Katrina, and walked over to the police station.

When Marcie got to her desk, she found a bouquet of two dozen red roses waiting for her.

Her name was on the courier slip, though she stared at it for several minutes before she could believe it. Then she noticed a sealed envelope attached to the courier slip, also bearing her name. She opened it and unfolded the letter.

"Marcie," she read to herself, "I wanted to give you these as a small token of thanks for saving my life. You'll probably say again that what you did was no big deal, but it was. Flowers don't do nearly enough to thank you for saving my life either. I also want to give you my sincerest apologies. You're right. I was a total jerk. I had no right to say any of those things about your brother or about you. The other night was a wake up call. And a kick in the pants. Both of which are entirely your doing. I haven't really thought a lot about where I've been going in my life or how I treated other people and how they saw me. You're the first person to really make me realize what a jerk I've become. This is all probably sounding really corny, and trite, but I swear on my life that I mean what I'm writing to you. I want to thank you for everything. Starting with these flowers, but also by becoming a better person. I wonder if we could start over, try to get to know each other again. I guarantee you'll find a better person inside of me than you thought was there. Would you like to get together over coffee or something? Please give me a call.

Yours Sincerely,

Michael McBain"

Marcie sighed, folded up the letter, and put it in a drawer. She didn't want to think about Michael McBain. Joe had tried to set them up, and what she supposed had technically been their date had been a disaster. He'd been the worst kind of jerk, arrogant, homophobic…

She'd found him passed out in Angel Square after Ron had tried to set her up with one of his friends. Another disaster, but just because they had nothing in common. She supposed that everyone, especially Ron, was hoping to find her someone new as quickly as possible, so that she could have a husband by the time she had her baby. Their motivations were good…she supposed. But she didn't want anyone but Al. Marcie wasn't sure she ever would.

Michael's apology was nice, maybe even sincere. She didn't particularly care. She'd come to realize what had upset her so much that night, when she'd gone to Natalie for a shoulder to cry on. Seeing Michael in the hospital, after she'd saved him, and the paramedics had done the rest. Seeing him sitting up in bed and trying to talk to her, to thank her and apologize, and generally make himself agreeable. Marcie had found herself hating Michael. Not for being a jerk and making those comments about Eric. Just for being alive. For being able to bounce back from taking medicine he was allergic to. For living when she'd just made the effort she would have accorded to anybody, while Al had died, despite all of the love, and desperate effort she had expended, all to no avail.

That was what cut so deeply. She had been able to save Michael McBain, a guy she didn't care about, and she hadn't been able to save Al, whom she loved and needed more than anything. And it had all happened right after Al had come to say goodbye to her too.

Marcie took a deep breath. She didn't want to go to pieces here at the police station. She had to work. She started organizing the papers on her desk.

"Hello, Marcie," she heard. Marcie looked up.

"Oh, hi, Doctor Cummings," she replied, smiling, "Hi, Professor Haver," she added, seeing him beside Rae.

"Hello, Marcie," he said, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I work here," she said, "What are you doing here? I'm sorry," she added hastily, "I just mean it's so strange not to see you on campus."

"The Commissioner's asked Dr. Cummings and myself to consult with him on some murders."

"Dr. Haver's something of an expert on serial killers," Rae added.

"You're too generous, Rae. I've just studied a few."

"He's being modest, Marcie." Marcie smiled.

"You mean the Music Box Killer who's been in the paper?" she asked. Rae sighed.

"He struck again last night. At the Palace hotel."

"I hope you find him soon," Marcie said. At that moment, Bo opened his door and waved in Rae and Dr. Haver. They left Marcie's desk. Marcie turned her attention back to her desk, and to Michael's bouquet of flowers. They weren't her favorite, Gerber daisies, but they were lovely. She fingered one of the petals. It felt like velvet. Dark red velvet. Marcie buried her face in the bouquet and inhaled deeply. It didn't matter that Michael had sent them. She would pretend that they had come from Al.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

Later that week, Marcie had another appointment with her OB-GYN. She was very excited, and a little nervous; today was going to be her first ultra-sound. She had changed into a hospital gown and sat on the examining table, swinging her legs impatiently. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called. Instead of Dr. Benjamin, however, who should come into the room but Michael.

"Hi, Marcie," he said with a smile.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she exclaimed, reaching instinctively for her clothes, but they were too far away. She folded her arms in front of her, uncomfortably aware that all she was wearing was a hospital gown.

"I'm assisting your doctor," said Al, "It's part of my residency." He took a deep breath to steady himself. It had been almost a week since Marcie had saved Michael's life and Al had taken over his body. It had been torture to go that long without seeing Marcie, but he knew that he needed to approach her slowly and figure out who Michael had been before he saw her again. As it was, it was taking all of his willpower to stand here with seeming nonchalance instead of taking Marcie in his arms and kissing her passionately. He knew she would disagree, but Al thought she looked damn sexy, even if she was just wearing a hospital gown.

"What do you mean, you're assisting my doctor? Since when do you work in OB-GYN? The last time I saw you, you were working in the walk-in clinic."

"That's the way residency works," Al said patiently, "They rotate your assignments every few months, to give you a feel for as many different areas of medicine as possible. My last rotation was in Family Medicine, which is the new term for being a GP. I just got transferred to obstetrics."

"Did you finagle this so you could see me?" Marcie shot back, her eyes narrowed.

"No, that's just a pleasant surprise." It was also the truth. The transfer had been arranged long before Michael's death. It was, Al considered, the only real piece of luck he'd had so far.

"I don't want you here," Marcie said.

"Why?" Al asked, suddenly in an agony of apprehension.

"I just don't. I'm not comfortable with you examining me." It had been one thing to let him examine her when he was a perfect stranger, but Marcie really didn't want to undergo a gynecological examination in front of someone with whom she'd been on a date, disastrous or otherwise. It was just much too weird.

"I'm a perfect professional," he protested.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't care." Al took a deep breath, trying to think fast.

"OK," he said. Best not to push this if he had any hope getting Marcie to like him. "Fine. This happens sometimes. There was another woman in here a few days ago to give birth. She knew one of the residents from college, and he asked her if she would mind him assisting with her delivery. She didn't mind, but you do. That's fine. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." At that moment, Dr. Benjamin entered.

"Everything ready, Michael?" she asked.

"Not quite," he replied, "Marcie and I know each other socially, and she'd rather that another resident assist you."

"OK," Dr. Benjamin said, already starting to look through some papers, "Sorry about that, Marcie," she added over her shoulder, "I think you should be able to switch with Chloe, Michael," she continued, "You go and find her and I'll get started here."

"Yeah," Al said, taking a last, long look at Marcie, "Sure." He stalked out of the examining room, found Chloe having coffee in the lounge, and told her about the change in their assignments. He left as soon as he'd delivered his message, his frustration and his bitter disappointment becoming obvious.

"Well," Chloe said to herself, "Dr. Grouch seems to be back to his old self. I didn't think the near death experience would last."

Al locked himself in the first bathroom he could find. He tried to avoid looking in the mirror. Seeing Michael's reflection where he ought to be seeing his own always made him want to punch the mirror, and never more so than now.

He kicked the tiled wall several times. He'd been appalled when he'd seen who Luna and Melinda expected him to jump into. He'd seen Marcie's disastrous date with Michael. Not only had he been given a nearly impossible task to start with, but now he had to do it working against Marcie's well-deserved enmity as well.

He'd tried to make a good impression the night that she'd saved Michael's life – or was that his life? Al had thought that it was excruciating to be able to see Marcie but not be able to touch her, but it didn't compare to being so close, being able to touch her, and for her to lash out at him with contempt and indifference. He'd spent part of that night and his day off the next day planning how best to work on getting Marcie to like him. The flowers and the letter had seemed like a good idea. It had taken a long time to get the wording right.

After Al had dispatched both, he had gone through everything in Michael's room, his clothes, his books, his computer files and papers, trying to learn about him, trying to digest the memories and knowledge that seemed to have remained even when Michael's soul was no longer there. He'd decided to wait a week before seeing Marcie. It hadn't been an easy resolution to keep by any means, but the distraction of thirty-six hour shifts followed by the desperate need for sleep had helped.

And none of this had worked so far. Al banged his fists against the wall, trying to let out his frustration and to keep from crying. He'd wanted so badly to see the ultra-sound, to see their baby for the first time. To see Marcie's face when she saw it as well. Everything he wanted in the world was right in front of him, but he couldn't reach out and take hold of it. Al stopped banging the wall and took a series of deep breaths. There was nothing to do but get a grip and try again.

He waited out in the hall for the end of Marcie's appointment. When she emerged, pulling on her coat, he walked over towards her.

"Marcie?" he said tentatively. She looked up at him and smiled dazzlingly. Al blinked. He'd never seen Marcie look so happy.

"Yes, Michael?"

"I wanted to apologize again about before. You've got to believe me, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I know. I'm sorry I was so snappish."

"No problem. Speaking of apologies, did you get my letter?"

"Yes. The letter and the flowers. They were very nice."

"The letter or the flowers?"

"Both. How'd you know where to send them?"

"My brother, John McBain, came by to see me. I wanted to find out how to get in touch with you, and he said you worked at the station."

"Agent McBain is your brother? How interesting."

"Do you like roses? I wasn't sure what you'd like best, but roses are classic, so I figured I couldn't go wrong with them."

"They were very nice. They aren't my favorite, but they were really nice."

"What are your favorite flowers?"

"It really doesn't matter," Marcie said, buttoning her coat as though about to leave. Al searched desperately for a way to get her to stay.

"Is that the ultra-sound?" he said, noticing that Marcie was holding what looked like a small, cardboard folder. He was rewarded by seeing Marcie begin to practically bounce with delight.

"Dr. Benjamin made me a copy," she said opening the folder to display the black and white image. She held it out for Al to see. He took it, holding his breath.

There was their baby. The image was black and white, and grainy, and slightly blurry. Al didn't think he'd ever seen anything as beautiful. Except for Marcie, of course.

"You see the heart?" she said, indicating a certain spot with her pinkie.

"Yeah," Al said, dazed. He noticed that there were two copies of the picture. "Who's the other one for?" he asked.

"For Al's mother," Marcie said, holding out her hand for the folder. Al gave it back reluctantly.

"Does Mo…does Ms. Medina ever come with you to your appointments? I mean, do you have someone to come with you? It can't be much fun to be here by yourself."

"She usually comes with me," Marcie said, moving towards the elevator, "But she got the flu last week and she won't let me get within ten feet of her until she's over it."

"That's very smart of her; have you had your flu shot yet?" Al asked, following Marcie down the hall, "As an expectant mother you're in one of the high risk categories."

"I got it at the beginning of the month," Marcie replied.

"Good." Al watched her press the elevator button. "Say, Marcie," he said hoping he didn't sound quite as desperate as he felt, "If you won't be seeing her for another few days, maybe I could run the picture over tonight. I have a break in half an hour."

"That's really nice, Michael, but you don't need to go to the trouble."

"Please, Marcie. It wouldn't be any trouble. Anyway, I still need to finish thanking you for saving my life."

"There's no need for that, Michael."

"Please?" Marcie thought for a moment, then took a small notepad out of her purse, scribbled Gabrielle's address, and handed it over along with one of the ultra-sound pictures.

"Thanks," she said. The elevator still hadn't come. She pressed the button again.

"Marcie?" Al ventured, hoping that the elevator would take a few more minutes.

"Yeah?" she said, looking up at him.

"Do you accept my apology? The one in my letter?"

"Yeah," she said, looking down again, "I think you meant it."

"So could we start over and get to know each other? Get coffee or something?" Marcie appeared to hesitate, "I just want to show you that I really am an OK guy. Please?"

"All right," Marcie said. The elevator opened and Al grinned with relief.

"It's true what they say about pregnant women," he added, keeping his foot next to the elevator door to keep it from closing.

"What?" Marcie asked.

"You really are glowing," Al said, removing his foot and letting the door close.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

An hour later, Al was knocking on the door of his mom and Bo's apartment. A minute or so later, he heard his mother's voice, muffled by the door, and probably the flu as well.

"Is that you, Marcie? I told you not to come by until I'm better, I don't want you catching this."

"Ms. Medina?" Al called through the door, "My name is Michael McBain. I'm a resident at the hospital." There was a minute of metallic fumbling and Gabrielle flung the door open.

"Is Marcie alright?" she demanded, "Has something happened?"

"No, no, Marcie's fine. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Al said, hastily. He took out the ultrasound picture and proffered it to his mother, "Marcie told me that you were sick and I offered to bring you your copy of today's ultrasound." Gabrielle reached out and took the picture with trembling fingers.

"Thank you, Dr. McBain," she whispered, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. One hand went to her mouth as she studied the picture, suddenly oblivious of everything else. Al watched his mother. She should really get back inside; she was dressed in a nightgown and robe and the hall was a little chilly.

"May I come in for a minute?" he asked. Gabrielle blinked and seemed to surface from her trance.

"Of course, Dr. McBain," she said, standing aside. Al entered and she closed the door.

"Please, call me Michael," he said.

"Very well. Please call me Gabrielle." She settled herself back on the sofa where she had been resting. On the floor and coffee table were a paperback novel, the remote control, a package of hard candies, a half-finished glass of tea, a box of tissues and a number of crumpled, used tissues. Gabrielle started to tidy up.

"Don't bother on my account," Al said, reaching out a hand to stop her, "I won't stay long. Is there anything I can do for you while I'm here? Some fresh tea?"

"That's very kind of you," Gabrielle said, settling herself more comfortably and handing him her glass. "How do you know Marcie?" she asked, watching him filling the kettle and putting it on the stovetop.

"She saved my life," Al said, "I had the flu or something myself and I accidentally took the wrong medicine. I went into shock and Marcie found me passed out in Angel Square. Called an ambulance and gave me CPR. I'm very lucky she found me. So I was more than happy to do her this favor."

"Isn't she wonderful?" Gabrielle said, blowing her nose.

"Yeah," said Al, "I think she's just about the nicest person I've ever met." There was a pause that was becoming awkward quickly. "I'm very sorry about your loss," Al finally said.

"Thank you," Gabrielle replied, blowing her nose again. Another silence. Al chewed on his tongue trying to think of something to say. There were a million things he wanted to say to his mother, but Michael McBain couldn't say them.

"I bet you're really looking forward to your grandchild," was all that came to him after a minute.

"Yes," Gabrielle said, turning her attention to the ultrasound once more, "This child was conceived shortly before my son died…and now it's all that's left of him." Al took a deep, steadying breath. "And there wouldn't even be this child for me to look forward to if it weren't for Marcie," Gabrielle went on, oblivious of her surroundings or audience, "My son loved her so much. She made him so happy. And now she is my salvation, as she was his." Gabrielle blinked, a few tears spilling down her face. She looked around at him and tried to compose herself.

"Do you…do you want a hug?" Al asked tentatively. Right at this moment, that was what he wanted most, to give his mother a hug. Gabrielle looked slightly taken aback. "You looked as though you could use a hug," he added, a little embarrassed, and worried that his mother thought he sounded odd.

"That's very kind of you," Gabrielle replied, "But I don't want you to get sick." Al nodded glumly. The kettle began whistling. Al made his mother a fresh cup of tea and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said, taking it and taking a sip, "How did you know I like it with honey?" Al froze for a second. Damn. So many things came to him so naturally, it was impossible to keep track of all the things he had to remember not to do.

"I always put in honey. My mother likes it that way," he said at last. Gabrielle took another sip and Al breathed an inward sigh of relief. "Anyway, honey is good for your throat. I should probably be getting back to the hospital now," he added, "Are you going to be all right by yourself?"

"Yes, absolutely. Thank you so much for dropping by, Michael, it was quite sweet of you. I'll recommend you to all of my friends whenever they come down with the flu."

"Be sure to get plenty of rest. I'll see myself out. Feel better soon." Al left the apartment and stood leaning heavily on the door. Luna and Melinda hadn't been kidding. This wasn't just hard. This was hell. He reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and stood looking at it. It was a copy of the ultrasound; he had xeroxed it before going over to his mom's. The quality was poorer than the copies Dr. Benjamin had made for Marcie, but Al could still make out the outline of his baby's head, and the heart. After a minute, Al refolded the paper, put it back in his pocket, and left the building.

Al smiled to himself as he made his way back to the hospital. Marcie had been so happy. Happy enough to agree to get coffee with Michael McBain. He hoped she wouldn't try to cancel when the mood wore off. He wouldn't let her. He had planned it out. Flowers and a letter of apology. Then coffee. So far, the plan was working. He had three months. He prayed that was long enough.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

Marcie was curled up on a corner of the sofa, drifting off to sleep when she heard someone yell. She started, trying to locate the sound, then realized that it was just Ron getting excited about a touchdown. What was Thanksgiving without football, after all? For her brother at any rate.

She and Ron were spending Thanksgiving with Gabrielle and Bo; Gabrielle, who was now over her flu, had insisted. Between them, Marcie and Gabrielle had cooked dinner. Marcie really enjoyed cooking, although she didn't have many opportunities, since her dorm room didn't come with a kitchen. It had been a nice, quiet dinner, though all of the food had made Marcie sleepy. Gabrielle told her to relax while she looked for something. Bo and Ron were sitting on the other side of the room, watching the football game.

"Hello there," Gabrielle said, coming up to the sofa, "Do you mind if I join you?" Marcie sat up and Gabrielle rearranged the afghan Marcie had been using so that it covered their laps.

"Thanks for everything…Gabrielle." Marcie still found herself hesitating when using Al's mother's name, even though Gabrielle had insisted Marcie call her by her first name the day she'd announced her pregnancy. Marcie leaned her head on her hand, her gaze shifting once again to Ron and Bo watching the game. Al ought to have been sitting with them. "I wish Al was here," Marcie said with a sigh. Gabrielle put her arm around Marcie's shoulders and rested her head against Marcie's.

"I found something I wanted to show you," Gabrielle added after a moment's silence, settling something on their laps. Marcie glanced down. It was a photo album. Gabrielle opened it and they began leafing through the pages together.

"Al's probably a month old in his one," Gabrielle said, caressing the corner of one of the pictures.

"Oh my God, he's so cute, look at his little tummy," Marcie cooed to the picture. She smiled wistfully, "He'd probably be so embarrassed if he heard me do that," she said, then sighed again. "I wish he was here to be embarrassed." They resumed paging through the album.

"He has so much hair in this picture," Marcie commented a while later, "And he can't be more than a few months old."

"He was born with a lot of hair, although some of it wore off at the back of his head, you know, from laying on his back in his crib."

"All I could boast was a sort of ginger fuzz. I was essentially bald until I was two."

"It's too bad you don't have your baby album here," Gabrielle said, "I would love to see pictures of you."

"Oh, there aren't really that many of me," Marcie replied. "I mean, parents just don't have the time to take as many when they have three other children already. And the novelty's worn off."

"But you were your mother's only girl," Gabrielle said, tucking a lock of Marcie's hair behind her ear, "She must have been very happy to have you."

"I'll tell you one thing," Marcie said, grinning, "I think I was one of the frilliest babies in our neighborhood. My mother went to town on dresses with lace and flowers and ribbons. I don't blame her, I suppose, after dressing three boys."

"That reminds me," Gabrielle added, "How is your wardrobe holding out? Are you still able to fit into your clothes?" Marcie grimaced.

"Yes, but barely. I can't tell you how strange it is for it to be a GOOD thing that I'm gaining weight and having trouble buttoning or zipping my pants and skirts." Marcie tried not to think about how, if Al were alive, she'd probably be stealing his sweatshirts to wear around the house.

"Why don't I take you shopping for maternity clothes tomorrow," Gabrielle said, brightening, "All the stores at the mall have sales the day after Thanksgiving, don't they?"

"Gabrielle?" Marcie asked after agreeing to the shopping expedition, "When you were pregnant with Al, did you have weird dreams?"

"I remember some," Gabrielle replied, "For instance, cherries are my favorite fruit, and, I forget exactly how far along I was, but I remember having a dream that I was reclining on this divan, and my stomach had turned into this enormous bowl of cherries, and as many as I ate, there never seemed to be an end to the cherries. What have you been dreaming?"

"Mostly anxiety dreams," Marcie said, "Like, I'm grocery shopping, and the baby is sitting in the shopping cart, in that special kid seat. But then a minute later, I look, and instead the baby is in the cart among all of the groceries. I have no idea how it got there. And when I reach in to put it back where it should go, the baby isn't in the cart and I can't find it. I know it's normal and it doesn't mean anything, I've been reading articles about it. But when I wake up, it takes at least fifteen minutes for my heart to stop racing." Marcie didn't add that she'd also had a few dreams about making love to Al. The details were usually fuzzy, but the feelings were intense. She felt so safe in those dreams, so warm and happy, could feel Al's arms around her and taste his kisses. Marcie hated waking up from these dreams, and when she did, would lie curled up in her blankets, clutching her pillow, and trying not to cry. She wished that one day she would wake up to find that the dream had come true, that Al really was lying there beside her. But she knew that couldn't happen.

At the back of the photo album, Gabrielle had placed the ultrasound. Marcie kept her copy on her nightstand, next to a picture of her and Al.

"It was amazing, Gabrielle," Marcie said, resting one hand meditatively on her stomach. "I mean, I knew, before I saw the baby on the monitor, that I was pregnant. There were the blood tests and the vitamins and everything. But somehow it became real, really real, when I saw it. Not all some dream or some mistake."

"I forgot to thank you for sending Michael McBain over here with my copy," Gabrielle added, "He was quite sweet." Marcie felt herself start blushing. When her euphoria over the ultrasound had worn off, she'd been appalled at the realization that she had agreed to have coffee with Michael. This was partly from embarrassment. She'd never realized happiness could affect your normal reactions to the same extent as alcohol or drugs. She wondered what else Michael, or anyone else, could have gotten her to agree to in that state.

Nor had Marcie really wanted to have coffee with Michael, period. She didn't hate him anymore, the way she had the night she'd saved his life. Or at least she hoped not. It was wrong and very unfair of her, she told herself, to hate someone just for being alive. She knew Michael wanted to prove to her that he had changed, which was sweet, but Marcie knew that getting together was bound to be stilted and boring. Several times, Marcie had almost called Michael to cancel. She could think of a million excuses. But she had a feeling that he would be stubborn, and hold her to their appointment. And anyway, maybe once they had had a drink and some civil conversation, Michael would stop feeling guilty and under an obligation to her, and simply move on with his life.

So they'd met at the Diner. And the conversation had been much more interesting than Marcie had expected. They had plenty to talk about; Michael had the same taste in books, movies, and music as Al had. At first Marcie had found this a little strange, but, after all, she and Al didn't have a monopoly on any particular artist or their work. And he was manifestly not acting like a jerk. Marcie had planned on allowing herself an hour helping Michael salve his conscience, but three hours had gone by when they actually said goodnight.

"Yeah," Marcie said, "It was nice of him."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

It was Reading Week. Finals were starting tomorrow, although thankfully, Marcie's first exam, Professor Haver's psychology class, wasn't for another two days. She was headed over to Katrina's room for a study session. Marcie left her dorm, admiring the white lights that had been strung on the trees on the College Avenue up ahead. Apart from the first snowfall, they were always her favorite part of winter, turning the black, naked branches into a diamond, fairy tale forest. They twinkled against the night sky.

As Marcie walked along the path, she thought she could hear music. She stopped, her heart beginning to beat uncomfortably fast. The music was tinkly, mechanical. Marcie stood still and let her eyes travel slowly over the dark landscape. A little away from the path, near the bushes at the side of the dorm, she saw what she was looking for. An open music box on the brown, dead grass. And, visible beyond that, a pair of feet.

Marcie fumbled for her cell phone, as she glanced around. The path was uncomfortably deserted. As she edged forward, she dialed the station.

"Hi," she began breathlessly when someone answered the phone, "Officer Linch?" she added, recognizing the voice at the other end, "This is Marcie Walsh. Are Commissioner Buchanon or Agent McBain there at the station? Put one of them on; it's an emergency." There was enough light from the other buildings to make out the prone figure of a young woman. Marcie approached it, glancing around in case the killer was still lurking in the shadows. Nothing jumped out at her and Marcie knelt down next to the body.

It was Madison. With a red leotard around her neck and the letter "E" oozing blood on her right cheek. Just in case, Marcie reached out to feel for a pulse. There was none.

"Marcie?" came Bo's voice. Marcie jumped up. "Marcie, what's going on?"

"I just found another body," Marcie said, all in a rush. "The Music Box Killer."

"Where are you?" Bo asked.

"Campus. On the path right by my dorm building."

"Marcie, get back into your building right now. Stay where there are people. We'll meet you in the lobby of your building as soon as we get there." Marcie hung up and ran back into the dorm. She stood indecisively for a few minutes, trying to process what had just happened. Then she remembered her appointment with Katrina, pulled out her cell phone again, and dialed Katrina's number.

"Hi, Katrina, it's Marcie. I'm really sorry, but I have to cancel tonight's study session."

"Is everything all right?"

"Well, I'm fine. But I just found a dead body." She said it almost nonchalantly, as though it was a typical thing to come across corpses on campus. Her announcement suddenly struck Marcie as extremely funny, and she found herself starting to giggle hysterically.

"Marcie, you what?" Marcie fought to get control of herself.

"I was on my way over to your room and I found a dead body. I think it was the Music Box Killer." Marcie almost started laughing again and bit her tongue. My God, this is appalling of me, she thought. I'm not supposed to be laughing.

"Oh my God, are you all right, Marcie? Do you want me to come over?"

"No, I'm fine, really; I'm just waiting for the police to come and get my statement. I'll be fine. I'll call you in the morning to reschedule our study session."

"You call me if you need anything," Katrina said. Just then, Marcie spotted Bo and John enter the building, followed by a phalanx of police officers.

"I'll talk to you later, Katrina," she said, and hung up.

"Hey, Marcie," said John.

"Hi, Agent McBain."

"Can you show us where you found the body?" She led them out of the building and down the path. Within minutes, large bright lights had been set up, illuminating Madison, and the area had been cordoned off. The path had been deserted ten minutes ago, but already there were clusters of spectators lining up to see what the police were doing.

"Did you disturb anything?" Bo asked.

"I checked her pulse, just in case, but that's it."

"Do you know her?" John asked.

"That's Madison Kensington," Marcie said, staring at Madison, as officers began photographing her in situ. In the glare of the lights she looked like a discarded doll. Suddenly Marcie didn't feel like laughing. When Al had died, she had wanted Madison and Deke to pay, had imagined torturing them both and making them beg for mercy. Maybe this was a sort of justice, for Madison's part in Al's death, but this wasn't what Marcie had wanted. She hugged herself, unable to take her eyes off of Madison. It was getting cold.

"Commissioner," someone called from one of the cordons. Both Bo and Marcie turned their heads and saw Professor Haver. Bo signaled to one of the officers to let the professor onto the crime scene. "I was just leaving my office when I heard the police were on campus. Has there been another…" He glanced in the direction of Madison and the photographers. "Oh my god. Can I be of assistance?"

"Not right now," Bo said, "But I'll want to consult with you and Rae first thing in the morning. Looks like the killer has moved on from strippers and call girls to co-eds. What are you doing on campus this late anyway?" he added conversationally.

"Putting the finishing touches on my final and proofreading my next book. Oh, hello, Marcie," he added, noticing her.

"Hi, Professor Haver."

"Marcie found the body," Bo said.

"Are you all right?" Marcie nodded. "Will you be able to take the final on Thursday? I'll be happy to give you an extension if you need it."

"I'll be fine. Thanks, Professor Haver." Bo sent Marcie back to the station with an officer, where she gave her official statement. At Bo's instructions, someone else drove her back to campus and walked her to her door. Marcie had been afraid that she would have trouble falling asleep, but she was too exhausted to have trouble and fell asleep soon after she'd climbed into bed.

"Good morning." Bo turned his head in the act of putting on his tie. Gabrielle had just sat up in bed and was pushing the hair out of her eyes.

"Hey," he said, coming over to the bed and giving her a kiss, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," Gabrielle said, pulling on her robe and following Bo as he walked into the kitchen for some coffee. "You didn't wake me up when you got in last night either."

"It was the Music Box Killer case. They found another victim last night."

"Dear God." Gabrielle sat down at the kitchen table. Bo handed her a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter as he sipped one of his own.

"Yeah. This one was a student at the university. Marcie found her."

"Is she all right?" Gabrielle exclaimed, aghast.

"Yeah, Marcie's fine. A little shaken up, but fine."

"This killer has taken to haunting the campus now? Is it safe enough for her? Maybe she should move in with us until you catch this person."

"I don't know, Gabrielle," Bo said, after hesitating for a moment, "You can ask her if you want, and I'd be happy to have her if she said yes, but I think she might feel funny, working at the station and living here. One murder doesn't mean that the students need to evacuate the campus and Marcie takes good care of herself. Besides…"

"Yes?"

"Marcie doesn't fit the killer's profile of preferred victims."

"How so?"

"She's much too short, for starters. All of the victims have been at least five six." Gabrielle sipped her coffee and turned her attention to a pile of catalogues on the kitchen table. "Those the furniture catalogues?" Bo asked, watching her.

"Yes," she said, flipping to a page that had been book-marked, "Do you think Marcie would like this crib?" Gabrielle said, showing the page to Bo.

"Don't see why not," he said. Bo couldn't really tell the difference between most of the pieces of furniture in the catalogue. "But you'd better check with Marcie before you order it." He watch Gabrielle rifle through the pages of another catalogue. He wondered sometimes, whether Gabrielle throwing herself into baby preparations was the best thing for her, psychologically. There was no question, of course, that since Marcie had announced her pregnancy, that Gabrielle was a completely different person than she had been during the weeks after Al had died. She was more upbeat, able to socialize, and most importantly, no longer drinking. Rae had referred to that as "self-medicating." It was amazing the terms psychologists came up with.

All this was good. But Bo sometimes wondered whether the baby plans were a new form of self-medication. There was something so intensely focused about the way that Gabrielle went about helping Marcie prepare for the baby's arrival. And she still couldn't talk about Al's death, wouldn't share her pain with him. Bo tried to respect her space, didn't force her to talk, but it got frustrating. He knew what it was like to lose a child, after all. Bo no longer worried over coming home and finding that Gabrielle had gone out somewhere and not yet returned. But nights when he worked late, which was not infrequent, he would sometimes come home and find the floor by Gabrielle's side of the bed littered with used tissues, a sure sign that she had cried herself to sleep.

He finished his coffee, wished Gabrielle a good day, kissed her briefly, and left for work. Gabrielle stared at the door, sipping her coffee. She could tell that Bo was worried about her, but he didn't ask her if she was all right, and she was grateful for that. She had a feeling that if she told him what was often uppermost in her mind, he would be surprised.

She felt ashamed. And guilty. Hot and tight-chested with it. Because she hadn't accepted Marcie without reservations when Al had announced that they were dating. Because it had taken her so long to understand how right they were for each other and to be happy for them. Max had been able to, right from the beginning, but not her. She had failed Al in some way. If she had accepted Marcie enthusiastically, from the beginning, was there something that she could have done, would something have been different, would Al still be alive?

Gabrielle would tell herself not to be silly. Look at it logically. Everything had happened, despite Max, despite Viki, despite…anyone. Despite the fact that she had donated her liver and almost died herself. But Gabrielle remembered her first reaction to Al's announcement, how she had cringed, because Marcie didn't have the figure and beauty of a supermodel. She suspected that was what Bo had meant, just now, when he had said that the killer wouldn't be interested in Marcie. He was going after supermodel-types.

She hadn't appreciated how good Marcie had been for Al, and now part of what Gabrielle wanted to do, through furniture, baby clothes, doctor's bills, maternity dresses, was make up for that initial rejection, to try to show Marcie the appreciation that Gabrielle had never felt or demonstrated while Al was alive. A tear splashed onto the page of the catalogue in front of her and she reached for a tissue. It would never be enough.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

Marcie went over to Katrina's that night for their postponed study session. She did not find any dead bodies on her way over. They spent a couple of hours reviewing their notes and quizzing each other on the material. When they gave up working for the night, they both felt well-prepared for the test the next afternoon.

They started talking about their vacation plans.

"I'm going home for Christmas," Marcie said, "But I'll just be away for a few days." Her father had insisted that since she had stayed in Llanview for Thanksgiving that she come home for Christmas. "I don't know whether it will be more miserable here or at home, what with Al gone and Eric in Iraq, but it'll make my Dad happy to see me."

"Your brother's in the army?" Katrina asked. Marcie nodded. "You must worry about him a lot."

"He's the reason why I was fighting for peace this summer," Marcie said, standing up and beginning to pace around the room, "Every time they announce on the news that another soldier has been killed, my heart stops for a second, and I wonder who it is, and who he's left behind." Marcie stopped by Katrina's desk and picked up a large, framed picture. "Is this your family?" she asked, turning to look at Katrina.

"Yeah." Marcie studied it for a moment. Katrina looked a lot like her father, although she had her mother's hair. There was another girl in the picture, a little shorter and with lighter hair than Katrina's, but the resemblance was unmistakable. Marcie remembered that Katrina had mentioned a younger sister.

"What's your sister's name?" she asked. Katrina didn't answer for a moment. Marcie had opened her mouth to repeat the question, when Katrina responded.

"Her name was Wendy," she said, tracing a design on her bedspread.

"Was?" Marcie asked, the meaning of Katrina's words hitting her a second later. "You mean she…?"

"She died. This summer." Katrina's voice was flat and she seemed to have gone very still. Marcie put the picture down carefully, not sure what to say next.

"I'm sorry. How…?" Katrina looked up.

"Anorexia," she said, her lips tightening.

"I'm so sorry," Marcie said, sitting down next to Katrina. They sat quietly side by side for a while. Then Katrina started speaking, slowly and hesitantly, as though the words were being dislodged with great care and trouble.

"I knew something was wrong when I was home for spring break. Wendy was paler and picked at her food. When I asked if she was OK, she got very testy, and she told me she was getting over a bad cold. I thought that maybe she was PMSing as well. I should have realized. I should have told Mom and Dad to take her to the doctor." Katrina rubbed her hand absently up and down her arm.

"It's hard to notice these things sometimes," Marcie said, "Al had a drug problem last spring and his parents didn't realize that anything was seriously wrong until after he'd quit."

"The night that I got back after finals, Wendy broke her toe toweling off after taking a shower. You couldn't help but see then that she was much too thin. Like she'd been in a concentration camp. No one is supposed to be that thin. The supermodels are freaks, but everyone worships them. She worshipped them." Katrina bit her lip, her face twitching slightly. "She'd started worrying about her figure when she was thirteen, and was yo-yo dieting for years. She thought if she were thinner, she would be more popular. I can't figure out where she got that idea. I've always been fine with how I look. I had some great friends. I even had a couple of boyfriends. I kept telling Wendy that she looked fine, that the so-called popular girls, girls like Madison, were idiots. I don't think she ever believed me." Tears splashed down Katrina's face, which she dashed away angrily. "She was in the hospital most of the summer. Died in August. The hospital called at a quarter to five in the morning. I was the one to answer the phone." Marcie reached out to pat Katrina's arm, but Katrina brushed he aside, jumped up, and began stalking about the room. "It makes me so angry sometimes," she said, in a harder, stronger voice, "Wendy should have been graduating high school this year. And the popular girls she wanted to join probably don't even notice that she's gone." Katrina came to a standstill and stared at Marcie, her face a mask of pain, bewilderment, and frustration, "She tried to turn herself into a Barbie doll. And it killed her."

"I'm sorry." It was the only thing Marcie could think to say. And it sounded so cliched and inadequate.

"Yeah," Katrina sighed, "I know." She seemed to give herself a mental shake, and with the air of someone who needed a change of subject, began asking Marcie about Madison's murder.

"So, it was just like in the paper?" Katrina said, "The leotard, the music box, everything?"

"Yeah," Marcie sighed. "And she had a letter carved on her cheek."

"Which letter?"

"E."

"What do you think that means?

"I don't know. Could be anything. E is the most common letter in the English language, after all."

"Yeah."

"Al's mother asked if I wanted to move in with her. She's worried that I'm in danger. But I'd really rather stay in my room."

"I don't think you or I need to worry about this guy anyway," said Katrina.

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, caressing the frame of her family picture, "We're not Barbie dolls."

Marcie dreamed of Al that night. She could feel his full weight on her, pressing her into the mattress. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his shoulders. He was nibbling on her ear and feathering kisses down her cheek and to her neck. Her fingers grazed his ribcage. She squealed with delight as he kissed her lips, and she opened her mouth to him, their tongues meeting. Marcie wrapped her arms around Al's neck, eyes closed and arching her back as she felt his tongue exploring the roof of her mouth.

"I love you, Al," she sighed as they broke the kiss.

"I love you, Marcie."

She froze. That wasn't Al's voice. Marcie opened her eyes. And found Michael's face inches from hers. She screamed.

And sat straight up in bed. She leaped out from under her tangled blankets and turned on her bedside lamp. She stood by the bed, shaking, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the sudden bright light.

No. No, no, no, no, NO. It was just a dream, Marcie reassured herself frantically, swatting at her nightgown as though she were being attacked by a swarm of midges. Michael hadn't been there. Nor had Al. What the HELL had Michael been doing in her dream? He didn't belong there, she didn't want him. Getting coffee had obviously been a serious mistake.

"I'm sorry," Marcie whispered, sitting back on her bed and reaching for the picture of Al that she kept on her nightstand, "Oh my God, Al, I'm so sorry. I love you, no one else, I swear." She lay back on her side looking at Al's picture, occasionally wiping away the tears that were streaming down her face.

Marcie glanced at her clock. She wanted to talk to Natalie, but 3:28 in the morning was either much too early or much too late to call someone. And it was just a dream, she just needed to calm down. And stay the hell away from Michael McBain.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

"Hey, Marcie," Al said, coming up to her as she approached the elevator.

"Oh. Hi, Michael." She jabbed the elevator button hurriedly.

"How was your appointment?"

"Fine."

"You and the baby coming on according to schedule?"

"We're both fine, thanks," Marcie replied, pushing the button again. Why did it have to be so slow when she needed it to get away from Michael? And why did Gabrielle have to attend a surprise staff meeting today of all days?

"Are you mad at me, Marcie?" Al asked, studying her face, and not liking what he saw. She seemed to be trying to avoid looking at him.

"What? No, of course I'm not mad at you, why should I be mad at you?" Marcie said in a slightly panicked voice. Where was the damn elevator?

"You would have told me if I had offended you, right? I mean, we were getting on all right at the Diner." Marcie nodded, her eyes on the elevator doors. "I had a great time," Al went on. "Could I take you to dinner some night this week?"

"NO," Marcie spat out, somewhat more vehemently than she had meant to. Michael looked taken aback. Actually, he looked hurt and confused, as though she had just slapped him. "Look," she added, feeling badly that she was hurting his feelings, "The last thing I want right now is a boyfriend, all right?" Mercifully, the elevator opened, and she jumped in.

And Michael jumped in right after her.

"I never said I wanted a girlfriend," Al said, thinking as fast as he could as the elevator doors closed, "Why couldn't we just be friends? We've got a lot of stuff in common and I know you enjoyed yourself at the Diner too. I could be the person you go to with all your extra medical questions, everyone thinks of a dozen questions after they've left their doctor's office."

"Michael, look, I know that you feel you owe me for saving your life and everything, but you don't, OK? Just move on with your life and stop chasing after me."

"One bouquet of flowers and one coffee are not chasing after someone. And what's happened between the Diner and now? You're acting like you're afraid of me." This was REALLY bad. Al had thought that he had been making good progress. Their get-together at the Diner had gone so well. And now he had to fight this sudden change of attitude; he had already used up two weeks of his three month grace-period and he was petrified of failing to meet his Valentine's Day deadline.

Marcie glared at Michael. He had a point; her attitude was vastly different from what it had been last week. But she couldn't exactly tell him that she had had an erotic dream about him two nights ago, that she resented his invasion of her subconscious, and that she wanted to avoid him because he'd made her feel like she had cheated on Al.

"I'm not afraid of you. But I also don't have to justify myself to you. You've proven that you're a much nicer person than I thought you were and you haven't done anything to mess that up. This isn't about you, this is about me, and it should be enough that I'm making myself perfectly clear and telling you nicely that I don't want dinner, OK?" Marcie concluded, a slightly hysterical edge creeping into her voice.

As Al opened his mouth to respond, the elevator gave a lurch, stopped, and a high-pitched bell started ringing.

"What's going on?" Marcie exclaimed, steadying herself against the wall.

"I think the elevator's stuck," Al said, "Are you all right?" Marcie nodded. Al knelt down next to the control panel and opened the emergency telephone. It took a few tries to get someone at the other end.

"We're not in any danger," he said to Marcie after hanging up the emergency phone, raising his voice to be heard clearly over the ringing of the alarm, "Maintenance is going to get to work on getting us out, although it may take awhile. They promised to cut the –," the alarm died, "The alarm," Al continued in his normal tone of voice. A few seconds later, music filled the elevator. "I guess someone decided to give us a radio station to keep us entertained," he added. The song piping into the elevator was "Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Daughter." Someone on the maintenance staff must like the Oldies station. "We might as well make ourselves comfortable," he added, sitting down. After a minute or two, Marcie sat down at right angles to him.

"So, how are classes going?" he ventured.

"Fine. I had my first final the other day."

"How many more do you have?"

"Two more finals, and two papers."

"So, are you hoping for a boy or a girl?" he asked when his first line of inquiry had petered out.

"A boy. Just like Al." Marcie wanted to cry. Why was everything in the universe conspiring to throw her together with Michael just when she wanted to avoid him?

"I'll bet he would have wanted a girl, just like you."

"How do you know?" Marcie snapped, "You didn't even know him." The infuriating thing was that Marcie knew that Michael was right; Al had said something very similar, when they had daydreamed about their future. But how would Michael know that?

Al bit his lip and took a deep breath. How the hell was he supposed to get through to Marcie? And why was she so mad at him?

"Luna, Melinda," he thought to himself, "I could really use some help here. Got any advice?" Aloud he said, "Well, I don't know. Maybe you'll have a boy who looks just like you. Or a girl who looks just like him. The variations are endless. Genetics is pretty neat, don't you think?" Marcie didn't respond. Al sighed and leaned his head back against the elevator wall, listening to the music. He listened to the tail end of "Roll Over Beethoven," and glanced over at Marcie. She was tapping her fingers along with the song; clearly she was listening to the music as well. Then the next song came on. Al wasn't sure, but it seemed to be playing a degree or two louder than the previous songs, with slightly more clarity.

 _If you let me take your heart,_

 _I will prove to you,_

 _We will never be apart,_

 _If I'm part of you._

 _Open up your eyes, now,_

 _Tell me what you see._

 _It is no surprise now,_

 _What you see is me._

 _Big and black the clouds may be,_

 _Time will pass away._

 _If you put your trust in me,_

 _I'll make bright your day._

 _Look into these eyes now,_

 _Tell me what you see._

 _Don't you realize now,_

 _What you see is me._

 _Tell me what you see._

 _Listen to me one more time,_

 _How can I get through?_

 _Can't you try to see that I'm,_

 _Trying to get to you?_

 _Open up your eyes, now,_

 _Tell me what you see._

 _It is no surprise now,_

 _What you see is me._

 _Tell me what you see._

 _Listen to me one more time,_

 _How can I get through?_

 _Can't you try to see that I'm,_

 _Trying to get to you?_

 _Open up your eyes, now,_

 _Tell me what you see._

 _It is no surprise now,_

 _What you see is me._

"And that was our five great oldies in a row," came the overly cheerful voice of the announcer, breaking the spell, "Louis Armstrong with 'What a Wonderful World,' ABBA and 'The Name of the Game,' 'Baby I Need Your Loving,' 'Roll Over Beethoven,' and the Beatles playing 'Tell Me What You See.' We'll be back with another five great oldies in a row right after this." And another annoyingly cheerful voice came on, talking about snow tires.

That song had to have been a sign, Al decided. It had also given him an idea.

"Do you think it's true?" he said, turning towards Marcie.

"Is what true?"

"That you can look into a person's eyes and know who they are?"

"Maybe. Sometimes. With the right people." She sounded calmer, less like she was going to bite his head off.

"I'll bet I could do that. Look in your eyes and know exactly who you are."

"You barely know me."

"Will you let me try?"

"All right," Marcie said with a shrug. Al leaned forward slightly and looked into Marcie's eyes. Their eyes met for a few seconds.

"You are courageous," Al began, "And compassionate. And honest. Not afraid of speaking your mind and standing up for what you believe in. But also able to see the best in people and to give them a second chance." He stopped speaking and leaned back, watching a blush creep up Marcie's cheeks. "Are you going to tell me that I'm wrong?" Al continued.

"How could you know all that in just a few weeks?" Marcie asked. Her voice was very quiet and her face was a study.

"It's all in your eyes," Al replied, smiling, "Now look in my eyes. Look hard. Tell me what you see." Marcie leaned forward and let their eyes lock. "Come on, Marcie," Al thought, trying to channel what he was thinking into his eyes for Marcie to read, "See me, Marcie. It's me, Al. I'm inside this body. Please see me, Marcie." Marcie's head jerked back suddenly and she blinked, as though surfacing from a hypnotic trance. "What did you see, Marcie?" he asked.

"Someone who's desperate for me to like them. Why are you so desperate for me to like you, Michael?"

"Have you ever had a near death experience, Marcie?" Al replied. Before she could say anything, he plowed on, "It made me realize something. When you die, you essentially disappear from the face of the earth. Do you know what are the two things that keep you from disappearing completely? The things, the possessions that you leave behind, and the memories that people keep of you. So, what have I got, what do I own? Clothes, some books, mostly textbooks and medical journals. A few pictures. Not much that wouldn't get thrown out or given away to some charity. What would people have thought of me? If I had died that night instead of you saving me, if you had thought twice about me, which is doubtful in itself, you'd just remember a bad date and some jerk who insulted your brother and you. That's not how I want to be remembered when I'm dead. I want someone left behind to actually give a damn that I'm dead. If I died a few months from now, what would you think of me, Marcie?"

"I don't know," she said hesitantly, "As someone who was trying to become a better person. And not doing a bad job of it."

"I'd like us to be friends. Couldn't I take you to dinner, Marcie? It wouldn't be a date; I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend. Just dinner. It'll be fun, I promise. Please?"

Marcie swallowed, and looked at Michael. There was something about him and what he was saying that she couldn't ignore. Sincerity as well as desperation were radiating off of him. As long as they were clear about the nature of their relationship, maybe they could just be friends. After all, dreams weren't all prophetic and full of deep meaning.

"All right. Fine. We'll get dinner sometime this week."

Al grinned with a relief so intense that he felt momentarily dizzy.

"Great. Are you free Wednesday night?" Marcie checked her date book.

"Yeah."

"Shall I come by your room for you at six?"

"OK." Marcie wrote down her address on a piece of paper and handed it to him. As he was putting it in his pocket, the elevator began moving again. The doors opened on two maintenance workers.

"You two all right?" one of them said. Al scrambled to his feet and helped Marcie to hers.

"We're fine," he said, "Thanks for getting us out."

"I've got to go," Marcie said, "But I'll see you Wednesday, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Al replied, watching her hurry away.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

Marcie opened her door. Michael had arrived at precisely six o'clock.

"Hey," she said, grabbing her purse and her coat.

"Hey," he replied. "I've got something to give you before we go."

"Michael," Marcie said reproachfully, "I don't want any presents. What is it?" she asked after a pause.

"It's more an attempt to satisfy my curiosity," he said, smiling sheepishly, "You said that roses weren't your favorite flowers. Do you like these any better?" And from behind his back, Al removed a bouquet of sunflowers. Marcie took the flowers.

"They're beautiful," she said. And they were; each flower was an enormous ball of sunshine, exuding a suggestion of summer heat and smells in the dead of winter.

"Are they your favorite?" he asked, leaning against her door-post and watching her put them into a vase, and knowing what her answer would be.

"I'm afraid not," Marcie said.

"I'll just have to keep guessing then. I like a challenge."

He drove them to the restaurant. It turned out that he had made them reservations at the Palace.

"Isn't this place kind of fancy for something that's not a date?" Marcie asked as they entered the dining room.

"I just wanted you to have a positive memory of us eating here. Something to replace when we were here on a date." They sat down and began studying their menus. After a few minutes, Marcie clicked her tongue against her teeth in annoyance and began burrowing in her purse. "Is something wrong?" Al asked, looking up from his menu.

"No, just annoying," Marcie replied, taking a small bag of baby carrots out of her purse, "Since I've entered my second trimester, I get these awful hunger pangs about every two or three hours." She popped one of the carrots into her mouth. When she had swallowed, she continued to explain. "Dr. Benjamin says it's nothing to worry about; just that I need to watch that I have healthy snacks and not junk. Right now I'm alternating between baby carrots, and tangerines, in case I get hungry during class, so I don't make a lot of noise chewing." Marcie ate another carrot.

"And I'll bet you thought that you wouldn't have to worry about feeding the baby every few hours until after it was born," Al said, grinning.

"No, I didn't," Marcie said after she had swallowed. "I feel kind of embarrassed, though, eating baby carrots in the middle of a fancy restaurant."

"Don't be. You having cravings for any other foods lately?"

"You mean pickles and ice cream? Nah."

"Has any pregnant woman ever eaten that, do you think?"

"You're the doctor, Michael, you tell me," Marcie smiled. They both started laughing.

Gabrielle sat at the bar at the Palace, sipping a glass of wine. She and Bo had arranged to have a late supper and to start planning their wedding. Gabrielle finally felt ready to begin moving forward. And she wanted to time the wedding and honeymoon well before Marcie gave birth.

She glanced at her watch. Bo wasn't late yet, although he probably would be. It made her very proud, how hard he worked and how good he was at his job and how well-respected. And it was also annoying as all hell that they didn't get to see each other a lot. It didn't matter where they went on their honeymoon, so long as it was AWAY from all of the people who placed demands on his time. Even apart from the fact that they needed time together, Bo really needed a nice, relaxing vacation.

Gabrielle scanned the room leisurely, enjoying her people watching. Then she caught sight of Marcie leaving the dining room and heading towards the coatroom. Gabrielle was about to hop down from her barstool and go over to say hello, when she noticed that Marcie wasn't alone.

With her was that young doctor. Michael McBain. The one who had come to deliver the ultrasound picture. They seemed to be engaged in an animated conversation. Marcie looked… relaxed. Happy. Gabrielle watched until they were out of sight, then turned back to her drink. She found swallowing somewhat difficult.

"Hey, Honey," Bo said, nuzzling her neck in greeting. Gabrielle started violently.

"You startled me," she said weakly.

"Sorry," Bo replied, giving her a kiss, "Only twelve minutes late this time too," he added, smiling and gesturing to his watch, "Does that mean that I'm really on time?" He registered the expression on Gabrielle's face. She looked panicky and distraught. "Are you all right?"

"Let's get a table, shall we?" Gabrielle said, making a visible effort to pull herself together. Bo waited until they were seated and had ordered to repeat his question.

"Has something happened? Can you talk about it? Come on, Gabrielle, let me help you."

"Do you think Marcie will ever…move on with someone else?" Bo was a little surprised by the question, and a little wary. He got the feeling that Gabrielle wanted to hear a certain answer, but he didn't know what that answer ought to be.

"Well…" Truth was usually the best policy even if you got hell for it. "I hope she will someday. Don't want her to be lonely her whole life. And it would be good for her to have help raising her baby." Now Gabrielle's face had gone thin and pinched and she looked like she was on the verge of tears. Damn. Obviously, that was the wrong answer.

"But I'm helping her," Gabrielle said, her voice thready, "And she can't get over Al so quickly. She can't." Gabrielle took a gulp of water.

"I didn't say that she should find someone right now," Bo replied, "I just meant someday along the line." He reached out and took Gabrielle's hand. "What's this all about?"

"I saw Marcie in here tonight with that doctor, Michael McBain. They looked like they were on a date." Bo thought for a second. He remembered meeting John's brother. Seemed like a nice guy.

"Well, Honey, how do you know it was a date?" Bo asked, trying to smile reassuringly, "Did Marcie tell you?"

"I just saw her, we didn't speak."

"Well there you go. No need to panic. You're probably jumping to conclusions." Gabrielle's expression became calmer, set. Bo could reassure her all night, but there had been something about their body language. Marcie probably didn't even realize what she was doing.

"She's having Al's baby," Gabrielle said vehemently.

"I know," Bo replied gently.

"No one is going to take them away from me," she added.

"No one possibly could." Gabrielle seemed to go very calm all of a sudden.

"No," she repeated with conviction, "No one is going to."


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: My father always used to say I could write for the soaps, but I never did. I own none of these characters and only played with them for fun.

* * *

The phone rang a few nights later. Marcie answered it. It was Jen. In tears.

"Jen? Jen, slow down. What's wrong?"

"Marcie, can I come over, please? I really need to talk to you."

"What happened?"

"Please, can I just come over?"

"All right. Sure. Come over to my dorm room."

"Thanks, Marcie."

Jen arrived at Marcie's door twenty minutes later. Her face was splotchy from crying and tears were still running down her cheeks. Marcie closed the door behind her.

"Jen, what happened?" Jen sat down on Marcie's couch, her arms wrapped tightly about herself as though she was freezing. Marcie sat down beside her.

"I'm an idiot," she whimpered.

"What happened?"

"I kissed Rex."

"Oh, Jen…" Marcie groaned.

"I finished all of my finals on Wednesday. I know I passed them all, and I think I even did well on some of them." This didn't surprise Marcie. She and Jen had been meeting a couple of times a week, to study and hang out, like they had planned earlier in the fall. Jen had actually been applying herself. "When the last one was over, I just felt so jazzed, I wanted to let loose, have some fun. But Joe had somewhere to be, and I tried calling you, but I couldn't reach you." Marcie bit her lip to suppress a sigh. Of course; she'd been having dinner at the Palace with Michael on Wednesday. "So I thought, what the hell, I'm a big girl, I can go somewhere fun by myself. So I went to Ultra Violet. Midnight Logic was playing and I hadn't been there in ages. You know I haven't," Jen added defensively. Marcie nodded. "So I was listening to the music, and I got a drink, and I was just dancing by myself, and of course Rex had to ruin it by coming over and starting to bother me."

"You must have known he would do that."

"I thought I could handle it, just ignore him. But it's like he knows exactly what to say to make me mad, knows exactly how to play me." Jen stood up abruptly and began pacing the room. "You know how it works; he needles me, I insult him. And then he kissed me."

"You said before that you kissed him."

"I know. I kissed him back. I didn't push him away right away; I did that, like, a minute later. And then I left."

"Did you tell Joe?"

"Not at first. But then I felt really guilty, and I thought, you know, that you and Joe and everyone else is always telling me to be honest with people and not to hide things from them, so I did. Tonight."

"And Joe got mad."

"Furious. And then we got into this whole fight because I was saying that he's never home, so what am I supposed to do, sit home and wait for him? And never go anywhere on my own?" Jen's brief flare of righteous indignation seemed to evaporate and she sat down heavily next to Marcie once more. "This…this isn't working. And I don't know what I've been doing wrong. I mean, until this week. Everything felt so RIGHT this summer, it felt so right when we got married. And I've been getting this feeling, for awhile, like I'm trying to be on my best behavior. For my husband. And it's hard, and it feels weird, and I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

Marcie gave Jen a hug. She wasn't going to say it, not even if Jen asked her directly, but she had a feeling that the fundamental problem was that Jen had gone into marriage thinking that it would be all about playing house and having great sex. For that matter, Joe had too, and as a minister, he should REALLY have known better.

"What am I supposed to do? About Joe, about life. I thought I'd be spending my life with him, but I'm not so sure anymore. I mean, I've gotten my grades up, but what am I supposed to do with my life after college? I'm not smart like you, I don't have a vocation like Joe. The only thing I'm good at is shopping and partying."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

"Give Joe a little time to calm down. Then maybe try couple's counseling. This isn't automatically over because of tonight." Marcie thought for a moment. "Let me show you something." She retrieved the Halloween pictures from her desk. "You took these," Marcie said, laying the pictures on Jen's lap. "They're really good, too. Have you ever taken photography classes before? Because you seem to know what angles and what lights are best for good pictures."

"They're just lucky shots. Everyone gets a couple of lucky shots per roll."

"Do you like photography? Could you see it as a career?" Jen wiped her eyes and quirked her eyebrows.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Why don't you try taking photography classes next semester. And talk to President Davidson; she could tell you how people go about becoming newspaper photographers or something."

"I'll think about it," Jen said after a minute. "I promise."

"Excuse me, Dr. McBain?" Al looked up, and saw his mother standing in the doorway of the lounge. He smiled, and put down the cup of coffee that he had been drinking.

"Hi, Gabrielle," he said. "Won't you sit down?" he added, gesturing towards the lounge chairs.

"What I have to say won't take very long, Dr. McBain." It was then that Al realized that something wasn't right.

"I thought we agreed to call each other by our first names," he said. His mother didn't say anything. "Is Marcie all right, did you come in with her?" he asked, his heart leaping in panic.

"Marcie's fine. It so happens, however, that I would like to talk to you about her."

"How can I help?"

"You can stop seeing her." Al was silent, taken aback, and Gabrielle continued speaking. "It has not escaped my notice that you have been pursuing her. I want that to stop immediately. Marcie has already been through more than enough heartache this year. I'm not going to let you add to it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Al said slowly, "Marcie and I are just friends. That's all she wants between us. She made that perfectly clear to me already."

"Then why does something tell me that you are going to want more than friendship?" Gabrielle countered. "Marcie is nearly four months pregnant with MY SON'S child. They were soul-mates. He was the love of her life. You don't just get over losing someone who means as much to you as I know they meant to each other."

"I know," Al replied, working on remaining calm. It was really hard to get used to hearing himself spoken of in the third person and past tense. If only he could just explain to his mother what was going on.

"Then you will agree that this is not the right time for her to become involved with anyone. She's had a very easy pregnancy so far, but she's still being flooded with hormones. They can affect your judgement. And it would be extremely unfair for you to take advantage of someone in a vulnerable position such as that."

"I'm not trying to take advantage of Marcie, Gabrielle."

"Ms. Medina, Dr. McBain," she cut in icily.

"Ms. Medina." Al swallowed.

"Will you give me your word that you will stop seeing Marcie?"

"I'm not seeing her in the way you mean. I can't promise to stop what I'm not doing."

"As long as we're clear, then," Gabrielle said, turning to leave. She knew she'd been right. It was written all over his face; Dr. McBain looked like a love-sick puppy whose favorite bone had just been taken away. If only she could trust him to honor her request. She was going to have to talk to Marcie as well.


End file.
